#And if there's a formula i can make that's even better

[snoopyracing]

rivals // ln4 & op81

part one

pairing: lando norris X oscar piastri X reader

word count: 7k

warnings: cursing, alcohol use, slight suggestive content, lando X oscar content

summary: challengers!au.... when ferarri’s princess is forced to retire at the peak of her career she finds herself lost with no purpose. racing was all she had ever known and it was ripped right out from under her with no warning. feeling hopeless she pours her passion back into mentoring oscar piastri— mclaren’s reigning champion. old feelings emerge, rivalries reach their breaking point, and ex-teammates show up when oscar least expects it. yet all y/n wants to see is some good fucking racing.

a/n: so excited about this series omg!! please let me know what you all think!!

masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rumble of twenty V6 engines, pit crews and TV presenters talking, last minute checks over the car, fans roaring– it’s all background noise as you’re sat snugly in the cockpit of your race car, waiting for the formation lap to start. You close your eyes and take a couple deep breaths, grounding yourself as you try to prepare for the next heart pounding adrenaline inducing two hours. Your body relaxes and you allow yourself to enter racing mode, your senses are heightened, mind sharper than a tack. When you open your eyes you only see a clear track in front of you and a navy blue Red Bull to the left of you. 

It was time.

If the giant Rolex branded clock didn’t confirm it for you then that static in your ear piece followed by 30 seconds till formation from your race engineer Alice did. You’re second on the starting grid, with Verstappen in front of you and your teammate Leclerc right behind him, you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. Not to mention that you’re in Monza this weekend, so a Ferrari 1-2 is the ultimate goal. Your visor comes down and your hands grip the wheel as the formation lap starts. 

When you line back up on the grid you take one last final breath and wait for the famous five lights. The little red lights that let you know it’s time to unleash every ounce of talent, of wheel knowledge, everything you’ve got to be the first one to see the checkered flag waving. 

The lights go out and away you go.

It’s an amazing start off the line from you and you’re able to quickly get past Max and become the new race leader, an advantage that you’re glad to have had considering Monza isn’t the easiest track to overtake on.

Beautiful Y/N - your race engineer's soothing voice fills your ears and for a second you can breathe, but it doesn’t last long because you know you’ve got Max Verstappen behind you. The man who will make a move if he sees the slightest opportunity and you know you’ve got to defend this position with your life. It makes you feel a little better knowing he’s got Charles behind him to keep him busy, but this is Formula 1 and things could change in the blink of an eye. 

You’d held the lead beautifully for a quarter of the race, but on lap 15 of 53 you hear box box over the radio. 

Seriously? You question back, knowing this was not the plan you’d gone with in your meeting this morning– or the other five million that Ferrari insisted on having. You wonder if maybe you’d been pushing too hard and ate away at the tires, but you knew that wasn’t true. Tire whisperer was your middle name and from what you could tell you still had a good amount of laps left on these babies. 

Yes, box now. Alice’s voice is firm and the pit lane is fast approaching, so you obey orders and pull into the pit lane entry. It’s an insanely fast pit stop, but when you come back out onto the track and see that you’d been undercut by Max you’re immediately pressing the radio button. 

Real nice pit stop timing– plan C is what I want now. 

We don’t think that’s possible at this moment.

Well I’m making it possible.

Even though Max had undercut you, there isn’t a doubt in your mind that you’re not winning this race. You were leading this championship for a reason– you were the best and it was as simple as that. A little undercut wasn’t going to ruin this race, especially when these tires were going to last you for the remaining 38 laps. 

It was crazy, you know, but taking risks was something you had to do in the world of Formula 1. So, you grip the steering wheel, take a deep breath as best as you can, flip Max the bird as you pass him and become one with your car. 

On lap 45 of 53 you no longer see Max Verstappen in a Red Bull behind you in your mirrors, but the all too familiar red colored car reflecting back at you. As the laps wind down you can actually start to hear how loud the crowd is and when you’re the first to see the checkered flag you know tonight is going to be a night you won’t forget. 

The crowd is electric, actually it’s more than electric. It's indescribable as you step out of the cockpit and carefully onto the top of the car that’s parked in front of the P1 placard. Your pointer finger proudly showing off your number one position to the multiple cameras pointed in your direction. Waves and kisses are blown towards the crowd before you’re quickly running over to your team and jumping into their arms over the barricades that are set up. Praises fill the air and when Charles finally comes over to the team it’s an even bigger celebration. You embrace your teammate, both of you congratulating each other before focusing back on the people who make all of this possible.

The cool water that awaits you at your pedestal feels better than winning for a brief second, your helmet and extra gear already ripped off you as you chug it down like liquid gold. 

“You’re one crazy motherfucker you know that?” A familiar Dutch accent fills your ears as he pats you on the back. 

“Just a casual Sunday drive for me.” You shrug your shoulders at Max, a smirk splayed across your lips as the bottle of water hovers near your mouth. 

A team member directs you towards the area where the pre podium interviews will be held before you can discuss anymore with Max. A Ferrari cap sits atop your sweaty head as you speak with David Coulthard— your smile beaming as the adrenaline still courses through your veins. “Wow. I don’t even know what to say about your drive out there today. Was a one stop the plan all along or was that something you just ended up doing?”  

The crowd is so loud you can barely hear him, the massive Ferrari flag waving in the grandstands behind him only adds to the atmosphere. “Yeah, I mean it wasn’t anyone’s favorite plan, but I knew when I came back out onto the track that these tires were gonna last me till I saw that checkered flag wave and they did. So I think that speaks for itself don’t you?” 

He asks a few more general questions, but all you can think about is that podium and the feeling of the biggest trophy in your hands. “Always a pleasure talking to you and seeing you on that top step. Congratulations again Y/N.” 

You give him a kert thank you before booking it to the cool down room and preparing yourself for the impending celebrations. 

In the McLaren garage Lando watches the podium from the monitors. He knows he should be in the media pen, answering the same questions over and over again and he pretends not to hear his publicity agent holler his name. In his defense the TIFOSI are celebrating not that far away– it’s hard to hear anything over them and the Italian anthem filling the air. He’s experienced a podium in Monza once, but as a McLaren driver it’s never as special as if he were a Ferrari driver. The monitor that’s still playing the podium celebration is his only focus at this point and he doesn’t even notice Oscar coming up beside him. Lando’s too busy watching you get sprayed with champagne and the way you look with the said champagne dripping off of you. The way you look like you were meant to be up there with the thousands of fans screaming for you down below. The biggest trophy held high above your head as you smile out at the crowd. 

“She’s something isn’t she?” 

Lando jumps slightly at the sound of Oscar’s voice, yet his gaze never wanders from the screen. The Australian shuffles his feet to stand next to Lando, his eyes joining in on the spectacle on the monitor in front of them. 

“Yeah she is.” Lando mumbles. 

Truth be told you’re more than just something. You were a prodigy– a generational talent. People knew you’d be talked about as one of the greats forty years from now. It took blood sweat and tears and then some to become the first female Formula 1 driver, and you sure as hell weren’t going to be some mediocre driver who barely made it into the points every race.

You were here to win– to be the best and that’s what you are. Another twenty five points added to your championship lead and perhaps after you win the championship you’ll no longer be the Princess of Ferrari, but the Queen. 

Lando watches as you grip the champagne bottle by its neck, lifting to your lips and taking a long swig from it. “I’d let her fuck me with that bottle.” He doesn’t even realize he’s said that out loud until he hears Oscar scoff from beside him. 

“Of course you would.” 

Oscar would too– he just has a better filter than Lando. 

Charles, Max, and you pose for some pictures and then with a final wave to the crowd you’re off the screen and the cameras change to the season's stats so far. Lando turns to face his teammate with nothing shy of a serious look on his face. “We are going out tonight.” 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows, there was nothing to really celebrate tonight. “We barely made it into the points. Is that really worth going out for?” 

“We aren’t celebrating us you muppet. We are celebrating Y/N.” 

“Ah of course, because we are so close to her. She probably wouldn’t even let us near her section if we tried.” 

Lando rolled his eyes at Oscar– he could be so pessimistic sometimes. So what if Lando could count on one hand how many times he’d held a conversation with you that lasted longer than a minute. That didn’t mean you didn’t like him. In fact, maybe you liked Lando so much that you kept your distance to remain professional. Either way he was going to actually talk with you tonight and yeah it was unprofessional, but if things escalated tonight, he wouldn’t oblige. 

The sound of Lando and Oscar’s names echoed through the McLaren garage and in an instant both of their publicity agents were now standing in front of them, unimpressed looks on their faces as they dragged the two drivers towards their interviews.

“I’ll get the details from Carlos alright? Don’t sit around in the room tonight– live a little Oscar.” Lando says as they enter the chaos that is the media pen.

Oscar only nods at his teammate as his agent is already pointing him in the direction of his first interview. 

A perk of the McLaren boys being so late to do their interviews is that they get the privilege of being in the pen at the same time as the three podium placers. Max and Charles walk in first, but no one pays that much attention to them. 

When Y/N waltzes in– now that’s a different story. 

There’s an immediate surge of energy in the air. Your name is echoed through the air like a prayer and each press official wants to be the first person to interview the race winner– to interview you. Your smile lights up the room and you don’t even look like you’ve just been through a grueling two hours in a race car. You’re radiant and everyone’s eyes are on you, even the ones that were mid interview.

When you end up next to Oscar in the pen he feels the air escape from his lungs. He tries to act cool, like he didn’t even notice you next to him, or that he wasn’t freaking out like a fanboy right now, but he totally was. It also seemed that the person interviewing him was more focused on you than Oscar, their eyes glancing over towards you every few seconds, but Oscar couldn’t blame them one bit. 

He thinks he blacks out for a moment when you leave to go to your next interview and you smile at him. It wasn’t even a full teeth smile, just a small one that you’d give to a person in public on the sidewalk. Yet it made him weak in the knees– his hands gripping the barricade as he tried to collect himself. 

Oscar had talked to you even less than Lando, but he’d come to the conclusion that you smiling at him outweighed all of Lando’s conversations. And his previous doubts about going out tonight had suddenly vanished. He was a man on a mission and you were that mission.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The music pounds in your chest as you sit on the plush velour couches in the VIP section of this random club in Monza. Strobe lights move across the room and the faint smell of marijuana fills your noise while you’re sipping on what was clearly not your first drink of the night. Charles sat across from you with whatever girlfriend this was at the moment and a couple other drivers that you liked well enough to invite out. 

It was times like this that you thought that maybe you should be a little more outgoing in the friend department, but you weren’t here to make friends. Sure you talked to the guys– you weren’t rude, but it was always professional conversations– always consisting of racing.

You were close with Charles, purely because he’d been your teammate for the past two years, but other than that you didn’t pay much mind to anyone else on the grid. You were here to win races, not form lifelong friendships, but that didn’t mean you didn’t like to have a little fun every once in a while. 

Which was what you planned on doing tonight. 

Oscar and Lando seem like two middle school boys with no date to the Valentine’s day dance as they stand awkwardly near the bar. The music is deafening and Lando’s mad that Carlos, who was the one person who could have gotten them into your section, decided to bail on coming out tonight at the last minute. The last hour had been spent on trying to figure out how to get in without Carlos, but they both seem to be failing in the brainstorming department tonight. 

Lando’s ordering another drink from the bartender when he feels a sharp jab in his side. He turns his head to find Oscar pointing out towards the dance floor– his eyes follow Oscar’s line of direction and what he sees has his mouth agape. 

There you are on the dance floor– in a red dress that fits you perfectly and teases anyone who was looking. You stand out, like a beacon of light and Lando and Oscar were sailors lost at sea. The way your body moves along to the rhythm and you seem to get lost in the music. It’s a sight that neither of them can seem to tear their eyes away from. That is until you decide to head back to your section and before Oscar can oblige Lando decides their best option for tonight. 

“Let’s just go and talk to her.” He grabs Oscar by the hand, his shoes dragging against the sticky floor as Lando pulls him towards you. Oscar knows there’s no real plan in place and he fears they’re going to make fools of themselves. 

Once they make it through the sea of sweaty bodies a red velvet rope and a burly bouncer are all that separates the two McLaren drivers from you. The bouncer stares down at them– his expression stone cold as he crosses his massive arms over his chest, muscles bulging under his shirt. 

“Sorry. Invite only.” His Italian accent is thick as he speaks to them. 

“We know her. We’re drivers too– for McLaren.” Lando counters back, praying it’s enough for the man to lift the rope and let them pass. 

The bouncer stares at them, squinting his eyes like he’s trying to tell if they are actually who they say they are. For a brief second they think the man recognizes them, but their hopes were crushed as soon as they appeared. “Invite only.” The bouncer states again as he stands there like a brick wall. 

Lando cranes his neck around the man, looking into the VIP section, hoping someone recognizes him and Oscar, but the person who comes to their rescue is the last person either of them expected. 

The red dress is what catches Lando’s eye first and when his eyes travel up and land on your face he gulps. There you are standing behind the rope that’s been their main obstacle tonight and when you lean over towards the bouncer and whisper something in his ear the man seems surprised.

If Oscar was as good at reading lips as he thought he was it looked like the man mouthed something along the lines of are you sure back at you. You nodded your head firmly towards the man before sitting back down on the plush couches, your lips wrapped around the straw from your drink as you stare down the two McLaren boys. 

Oscar and Lando think they’re dreaming when they see the bouncer lift the rope and motion for them to enter. Oscar feels like his feet are stuck on the floor, he never thought they’d get this far tonight, especially after Carlos bailed on them. He feels Lando’s hands on his back, pushing him forward while mumbling something about hurry up before she changes her mind. 

They’re both stumbling messes as they hurriedly enter the VIP section. They hear some of the other drivers greet them, but their attention is lasered in on you. How you’re sitting there sipping your drink and looking like the sexiest and scariest woman they’d ever met. 

There’s a beat of silence for a moment between the three of you as you all just stare at one another– some rap song fills the silence as the bass vibrates in everyone’s chest. 

Oscar notices how your gaze lingers on Lando more than him and he realizes he needs to be the one to speak up first. “You were fucking incredible today.” 

Your eyes immediately dart over to Oscar and a smile creeps its way onto your face. “Thank you.” 

“No really. It was like something completely different to what everyone else was doing out there today. It was like it wasn’t even racing.” 

You simply nod at him, what were you supposed to say to him? You knew you were good. 

Oscar looks around his eyes identifying the other drivers who’d been graced with a prior invite into your section. Leclerc, Hamilton, and Albon, but no Verstappen. “Max didn’t want to come out tonight?” 

You scoff and shake your head at the Australian. “He only likes to celebrate when he’s on the top step, not the bottom one. He’s a sore loser– probably already on his private jet back to Monaco as we speak.” Someone comes over with a tray full of shots and sets them down on the nearby table. You grab one for yourself and motion for the boys to grab one as well. “Go on, have a little fun. You two did pretty decent for yourselves today didn’t you? You both scored points if I recall correctly?” 

Lando and Oscar both nod and grab a shot glass from the table, quickly downing it before setting the glass back down. They watch you as your lips wrap around the shot glass and you tilt your head back, letting the liquid burn as it goes down your throat. When you set the shot glass back down you notice the boys standing there like lost puppies. The awkwardness and nervousness radiating off them makes you giggle. You knew the power you had over men and oh was it such a fun game to play. 

“I heard through the grapevine that you’re doing Formula E next season. Did you lose your seat or what?” 

Lando’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head– he’d not spoken to another soul about it, besides Zak. “How did you even know about this? But no, I didn’t lose my seat. I wanted to explore other forms of racing. Trust me– my seat will be waiting for me when I’m done.” 

You nod at the British driver as your eyes flicker over to Oscar, who you know is thinking the same thing. No one who makes it to Formula 1 just decides to pursue other types of racing— maybe once you’ve left your mark, but not a handful of years into your career. You guess you all would see if he did still have his seat when the time came. “It’s Formula 1 darling. There’s no such thing as secrets in this career field. The paddock whispers and the majority of the time she’s never wrong.” 

The club starts to feel suffocating and Lando uses his need for fresh air to maybe get you away from the chaos for a moment. “Do you smoke?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him in surprise– a small laugh spilling past your lips. “Cigarettes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“No. Do you?” 

“Yeah. Do you wanna go outside?” 

You glance over at Oscar who seems less than impressed with Lando at the moment, but you’re intrigued to see where this goes. So, you stand up, smooth the front of your dress and let Lando and Oscar lead the way. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The fresh air feels amazing when it hits your skin, it makes you feel alive–awake almost. You’re grateful there’s only two people out here in the little smokers area, the last thing you need is for people to be shoving their phones in your face. You notice Lando pull a pack of Marlboros from his jacket pocket and then proceeds to pull a cigarette out before handing the pack to Oscar who copies his actions. 

You three sit at one of the little tables set up outside and you watch as they smoke their cigarettes. “This isn’t the eighties anymore. Do your trainers know you guys smoke?” 

“If the drivers back in the day could do it why can’t we?” Lando says as he takes a particularly long drag.

“Like I said it’s not the eighties anymore.” You taunt. Oscar quickly puts his out with the heel of his shoe before you start in on him. He never really liked cigarettes to begin with, but then he started hanging around Lando and well now everytime he drank he craved one. “See, this is your problem. You think racing is about trying to be like the ones who came before you or that it’s some image you have to fit into. That’s why you’re stuck fighting for P10.” 

“We don’t necessarily have the best car at the moment.” Lando counters back, flicking the ash off his cigarette as he eyes you. 

You shake your head at him. “Yeah, but having a good car is only a small fraction of the bigger picture. To be honest you’re not actually a Formula 1 driver. You don’t even understand what racing is.” 

Lando smirks as he takes another puff from his cigarette, the smoke billowing in your face. “What is it then?” 

“A relationship.” 

He scoffs at your answer. “Is that what gets you all those wins? Seeing racing as a relationship?” 

“It is actually. When you become one with your car, with your team, engineer, everyone that makes this whole thing run you’ll understand. You’ll feel it and it’s like you all understand each other. It’s some fucked up version of love, but it’s there. It’s like I’m sometimes not there in my body when I’m driving and the part of me that is in this relationship takes over and I just exist in that moment. Racing– being a Formula 1 driver is more than just driving a fast car and living a luxurious lifestyle. It’s a commitment and when that commitment is taken seriously the outcome is beautiful.” 

Oscar had never heard someone talk about racing like that before, but it made sense, especially coming from you. Everytime you got in that car your drive was like a piece of art. Every win of yours deserved to be in the Louvre. You truly were the face and epitome of what was Formula 1. 

Your phone lights up with a notification and when you see just how late it is you know it’s time to call it a night. “Well boys. It was nice to chat with you, but it’s time for me to head back to the hotel. See you at the next race.” You give them a small wave goodbye and head back towards the chest rattling music. 

Lando sits up in his chair, the night had just begun and he was far from done talking to you. “Wait!” You stop walking and turn on your heels to face the boys, an eyebrow raised in question. “Are you on Facebook?” 

You audibly laugh in Lando’s face at his question. “Facebook? Is this 2010?” 

Oscar speaks up for the first time since you three came out here. “I think he’s trying to ask for your number, which is what I’m also doing… right now.” 

Your eyes dart back and forth from Oscar to Lando. “I don’t doubt you both follow me on Instagram. Is that not enough?” Oscar and Lando feel their stomachs drop, they knew they shouldn’t have gotten so ballsy with asking for your number. When they don’t answer you realize how serious they are about it. “You both want my number– for real?” 

Oscar and Lando vigorously nod their heads at you, clinging onto the last little bit of hope they have.

“I’m not a home-wrecker.” 

“We don’t live together.” Oscar states as he watches your hair gently move with the night breeze. 

Lando doesn’t miss a beat with his reply. “It’s an open relationship.” 

“Also Lando has a girlfriend.” 

“I do not!” Lando slightly raises his voice towards his teammate. The asshole was clearly trying to get one up on him. 

You laugh at their antics, they were such desperate needy boys and you were loving this. 

Lando shuffles forward in his seat, his elbows resting on the table as he leans forward. “Why don’t you come hang out with us later? We’re all at the same hotel. We’re in room 231.” 

Oscar’s head whips around to look at Lando, he was not expecting to have a sleepover tonight. 

You laugh a little at his proposition. “Is money that tight at McLaren that they’ve got you two sharing rooms?” 

Lando and Oscar glance at one another, the answer was yes, but they weren’t going to say that. “No, it was a hotel mistake.” 

“You want me to come tuck you in?” Your tone is nothing shy of teasing. 

“No. We can just keep talking about… racing.” 

They were determined– you’d give them that. You had never paid much mind to the McLaren boys, but after your interaction with them tonight you were intrigued to say the least. A small smile stretches across your face as you bid the boys farewell once more. “Goodnight.” 

You know they watch you walk all the way to the door and you know they’ll be waiting all night for you to show up. 

It’s not butterflies that you feel in your stomach when you realize just how tightly you’ve got them wrapped around your finger already– no it’s something much stronger than that. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Later the night Lando and Oscar wait impatiently in their shared hotel room for you to show up. The AC rattles and the TV plays some random Italian show that Oscar pretends to watch. 

“She’s not coming.” Oscar states after the end credits roll on what he thinks is the third episode of the show. 

“She might.” Lando’s lounging on his bed, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. 

Oscar glances over at Lando. “You made it sound like we wanted to fuck her in here.” 

Lando scoffs. “Well we do want to fuck her in here.” 

“What exactly was your plan with this invitation? I mean let’s say she did come over. We both keep desperately trying to shoot our shot and hope that she ends up making out with one of us? What’s the other person supposed to do? Go sit in the bathroom?” 

Lando shrugs, he hadn’t thought that far in advance, but it didn’t sound like a horrible plan. “Sure, if it came to that.” Oscar laughs at how unbelievable Lando sounds right now. Really he’d like nothing more for you to show up at their door and have your way with him, but Oscar was realistic– Lando not so much. “What do you think it’s beneath you? Is Oscar Piastri too good to take one for the team and wait it out in the bathroom?” 

“I think it’s beneath her.” Oscar had realized that The Princess of Ferrari was definitely taking pity on them earlier. And if you did show up at their room tonight then maybe Oscar would start to believe in a higher power. 

“What if she chooses you? You’d have no trouble sending me away.” 

Oscar rolls his eyes at his teammate. “She’s not coming, Lando.” 

Then as if the universe wanted to humiliate Oscar there’s a knock at the door. The boys halt their movements and lock eyes, wondering if they’d just heard the knock in their heads. Then as if on cue another knock sounds on the door and their both scrambling to straighten the room as quickly as possible. 

On the other side of the door you can hear them clambering around and shouted whispers echoing through the room. You smile as you imagine the undeniable chaotic scene unfolding on the other side of the door. You hear the door opening and you quickly step back, you didn’t want them to know you were eavesdropping.

When the door opens there stands Oscar and Lando, both with only boxers on, but Lando’s the only shirtless one. You can feel their eyes burning into your skin– you’d perhaps worn the shortest athletic shorts you own and a cute little jacket on purpose. 

“Hi.” Comes from both of them, but you only greet them back with a smile. 

You three sit on the carpeted floor and talk about dumb shit like what junior series you raced in and if Oscar’s boarding school experience was like the crazy stories you’d heard of. The mini bar was soon fully raided and combined with the prior drinks from the club– you were feeling a little out there with your questions. 

“How often does this happen?” You motion between the three of you with your almost empty seltzer can. “You guys going after the same girl?”

“Not as often as you’d think actually.” Lando states as he takes a swig from his drink. 

“Really?” You don’t believe him one bit. 

Oscar shakes his head. “We don’t usually have the same type.” 

“Are you saying I should be flattered?” 

“No… I mean you’re everyone’s type, aren’t you?” Oscar states like it’s a known fact. 

Which, in all honesty, it practically was a well known fact. You never had an issue in the relationship department. Men and women– they both loved you and wanted you, and well the feeling was mutual. You were comfortable with your sexuality, but you could feel the tension or unexplored tension between Lando and Oscar. They were both too needy and pathetic looking to not be at least a little curious and you were going to be the one to get the ball rolling. 

“What about the two of you?” You ask, your head spinning with endless possibilities. 

Oscar furrows his eyebrows at you. “What do you mean?” 

You don’t say anything– you just keep looking at them. Waiting for one of them to crack. 

“Oh. No… is that surprising?” Oscar’s cheeks start to turn pink when he understands just what you were insinuating. 

Yes it’s surprising you think– what F1 driver didn’t have a little fruitiness to them? 

Then you see Lando with a weird smile on his face and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “What is it?” 

“Well…” 

“No.” Oscar is furiously shaking his head at Lando, he does not want you to know about this, but he can already tell his actions are futile.

“Tell me.” You straighten your posture, attention solely focused on them and what Lando’s about to spill. 

Lando keeps teasing and Oscar can tell you're absolutely chomping at the bit to hear this, so he concedes. Maybe you’re drunk enough to forget this in the morning. “Just tell her.” 

You watch as Lando’s eyes travel from you to Oscar and then back to you. The anticipation is killing you and just when you think you can’t wait much longer Lando speaks. 

“Oscar and I have jerked off together before.” 

The image of it flashes in your brain and it’s everything you could have thought of and more. “Like you helped each other or?” 

“No. We were always in separate beds.” Oscar explains but when your eyes widen he realizes what he’s said. 

“You’ve done it more than once?” 

Oscar’s scrambling to do damage control while Lando sits there with a grin on his face. “Twice! That was it and it was during a triple header both times… can you blame us?”

You put your hands up in defense. “I’m not judging.” Judging was the last thing you were doing– fantasizing was more like it. 

There’s a beat of silence between the three of you and when you down the last of your drink you realize what you had was the last of everything. “We’re out of drinks.” 

You all glance at one another– not sure where to go from here. Do you leave? Do you stay? Do you try to get more to drink? Then as abruptly as you decided to do a one stopper during the race earlier, you get up from the floor and take a seat on the end of one of the beds. 

“Come here.” You command. 

The boys look at one another and then over to you, neither of them moving. 

“Um– which one of us?” Oscar asks. 

Lando on the other hand doesn’t wait for you to answer. He’s up off the floor and next to you on the bed faster than the car he drives on Sundays. Oscar quickly follows suit– settling in on the other side of you. 

You feel both of their eyes on you, the anticipation killing them, and the fact that you’re fully in control at the moment. You look back and forth between the boys, almost like you’re playing eeny meeny miny moe with them. After what seems like a tantalizing few seconds you land on Oscar and you can feel the nervousness and desire radiating off of him.

You lean in and capture his lips in a kiss– it’s sweet and he kisses you with a softness that somehow had you craving more, but you knew you had Lando waiting his turn. So before you got carried away you broke apart from Oscar and turned to face Lando. He’s eager and wastes no time once you lean in towards him. His lips are rougher and kissing Lando is the complete opposite of kissing Oscar. Lando’s more passionate and rushed and he’s more handsy than Oscar. It’s like day and night with them. 

You pull away from Lando and then after a few seconds they both lean in at the same time to kiss you. It’s awkward at first– heads are bumped and giggles travel softly through the air, but eventually you make it work and you’re kissing them both at the same time. It quickly turns more heated, tongues dancing with each other, mouths moving in sync. It's messy and hot and none of you can seem to get enough– hands are everywhere and you all get lost in the moment. 

That’s until an idea sparks in your brain and you find yourself slowly backing out of the kiss and before you know it you’re leaning back on your elbows watching the show in front of you. 

For a moment Oscar and Lando get lost in one another. Their eyes are closed yet their mouths work together like they’ve mapped every inch of one another. It makes you wonder– hope that they’ve done this before. It’s like a work of art in front of you and you find yourself getting lost in the way they kiss one another, but you know you can’t be greedy if you want to make whatever this is last. So, you sadly interrupt the two drivers. 

“Okay.” They immediately break apart, eyes wide as they realize what they’ve been doing. “I’m going to bed.” You get up and head towards the door, acting like this hadn’t just made you feel crazy. 

Lando and Oscar are feeling fifty million emotions at the moment but when they see you head towards the door Lando realizes he hadn’t gotten what he asked for in the beginning. “What about your number?”

You’d just made out with them and they're still so hung up on your damn number? “I told you I’m not a home-wrecker.”

“Please.” Oscar knows he sounds desperate, but that’s because he is. 

You think for a moment, you could just give them your number, or you could make this a little fun. And with you fun is always going to win. “Alright. How about this? I would say whoever wins the race would get my number, but we know that's not going to happen. So whoever places higher up at the next race can have it.” 

Lando smiles, but Oscar feels the loss already. You notice how starkly different their reactions are and you focus your attention on Oscar. “You can beat him. You should beat him, actually.” 

Lando doesn’t know if he should take offense to what you’ve said or use it as fuel to beat Oscar tomorrow. Either way he doesn’t appreciate the sudden favoritism towards Oscar at the moment.

“Are you saying you want me to?” Oscar’s confused as to what you meant. 

“I’m saying you’re not going to get my number if you don’t.”

“Yeah, but what do you want?” Oscar asks and you all know he’s not implying what you want but who.

“I want to see some good fucking racing.” 

Silence fills the hotel room for a brief moment before you bid them goodnight and walk out the door. 

The boys sit there shell shocked, still processing what had taken place moments ago and your words still hanging heavy in the air. They both knew they had to lock in and do everything in their power to beat one another at the next race– and to them your phone number meant more than a trophy or points at the moment. 

Lando glances over at Oscar, but his eyes travel down south when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. “Need some help with that?” 

Oscar looks over at Lando and follows his gaze down to his raging erection. He punches the Brit in the arm before abruptly standing up. “Fuck off Lando.” He hollers as he heads towards the bathroom. 

“Maybe we can tell Y/N it was three times instead of two!” Lando laughs as he leans back on the bed with his arms behind his head. He was determined to get your number– come hell or highwater. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Two weeks later Formula 1 is racing in Baku. You haven’t spoken to Lando or Oscar since that night, but the whole weekend you’ve been catching their eye, fleeting glances are shared during media day, and when you stand somewhat close to them during the driver’s parade they both feel like they're going insane. 

Sunday arrives and you’re on the top step again and when the celebrations are over you watch the race in your hotel room that night. A smirk paints itself across your face the longer you watch, the McLaren boys didn’t disappoint. They put on a good fucking show from the midfield and when Lando sees the checkered flag before Oscar you’re pulling out your phone and pulling up his contact– a favor from Carlos. 

Your fingers type out the message– the intent behind it is clear as day and when you press send you wait for the knock at your door. 

you: congrats P8 winner. i think you deserve a more elaborate prize, don't you? 

A few weeks later Lando and Oscar are at the MTC doing some training, sim work, media obligations– all the fun stuff. They’re in the gym doing weights when Oscar asks the question. 

“You fucked her yet?” 

Lando sets the dumbbell down, surprised at what came out of Oscar’s mouth. “I’m not telling.” 

“What do you mean you won’t tell me?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” Lando shrugs. 

Oscar scoffs as he does a few more reps. “Since when?” 

“Since she told me she’d stop seeing me if I told anyone.” Lando says matter of factly. 

“Well she had to know you’d talk to me.” 

Lando stares at Oscar for a moment, amazed at how adamant he is to hear about him sleeping with you. “Isn’t this hard for you to hear? Do you like torturing yourself or something?” 

“I’m happy for you really.” Oscar replies, but his heart isn’t in it. “Just give me a sign to tell me. If you aren’t going to say it outloud give me a sign. At the next race if you two slept together, wave at me or something.” 

“You want me to wave at you while I’m driving a car at 200 miles per hour?” Sometimes Oscar was a freaking idiot and this was one of those times. 

“Yeah. It’s simple enough, but I’ll know what it means.” 

With a smirk on his face Lando shakes his head at the Australian, he knew this wasn’t going to end well, but he’s a man of his word. “Alright.” 

At the next race as they’re nearing the last few laps Lando manages to overtake Oscar and as he passes him Oscar sees Lando’s gloved hand sticking out as best as he can and the unmistakable action of waving taking place. 

He feels his stomach practically drop out of his ass and the sound of two more cars overtaking him doesn't bother him one bit. He knew they had to be hooking up, but the reality of it made him want to be sick. It should be him with you, not Lando. Anger courses through his veins and in the post race team meetings he won’t even look in Lando’s direction. 

The rest of the season is played out as civilly as it possibly can be. Oscar’s still bitter about losing you to Lando, but knowing that he’ll be gone next season heightens his spirits somewhat. Lando and you continue to secretly hook up and you wonder if you actually have feelings for him or not. 

Racing is still your number one priority of course and no one, especially not Lando, is a distraction to you in your pursuit of that championship title. The last few races you work your tail off training and honing your racing craft. It’s a close title fight between Max and you and when it comes down to Abu Dhabi you know this is what all these years of blood sweat and tears have been for. You’re pushing the car to the maximum channeling every bit of strength and knowledge you have to win.

And when you’re the first to see that checkered flag you don’t even feel like you’re in your body. It’s all a blur, it’s surreal, and when you’re holding that championship trophy with the biggest smile on your tear stained face you know you deserve this more than anyone. As the congratulations and celebrations begin you realize how addicting this is and you know that this is the beginning of a new era for you. A champion era. 

Yet some eras, though they are mighty, are shorter than others. 

[lsunstreakerl]

okay 60+ votes in like an hour is good enough for me! have 1.6k of vampire smut. no plot. don't go looking, it's not there. GP pov!

pairings: GP/max

relevant heads up: they're vampires. blood kink, blood play, daddy kink, max shaming, power dynamic if you squint.

Gianpiero blinks awake as his covers move, a cold body wiggling right up next to him. He groans, hand flopping around until he can get his palm clasped across the back of Max's neck— not that it does any good.

He can feel tiny pinpricks in his skin as Max nibbles at his collarbone, pressing closer to him.

"Max. You're supposed to be in Monaco."

Max whines, unlatching from his neck.

"GP, I'm hungry, I didn't want to go upstairs and feed off of Daniel again. It makes me feel bad."

Gianpiero pulls him away from his skin by the back of his neck, gripping the skin in a firm scruff.

"Because he's happy, Max. Obviously he's not going to taste good. That doesn't explain why you felt the need to fly all the way over here,"

He shakes Max roughly, watching his head flop around even as his eyes stay locked with Gianpiero's, wide and wanting.

"Break into my house,"

Another harsh shake.

"And latch onto me like it's your first day dead."

Max frowns.

"You used to let me do that all the time."

"Yes, when you were a baby. It's been sixty years, you need to learn some patience."

Max blinks up at him from under his lashes, blue eyes wide as he swings a leg to straddle Gianpiero's thigh.

"But daddy—"

Gianpiero groans, head falling back as he catches the edge of Max's wicked grin.

"Don't 'daddy' me, you know better. I thought letting you use the sim for virtual tournaments was giving you enough?"

Max grinds down onto his leg, cold fingers skating up his side under his shirt.

"It was, and now it's not, and I'm hungry."

Gianpiero sighs, gripping Max's hips to hold him in place, glaring. Normally he'd have a cute little flush in his cheeks, but he's run through his blood supply faster than he was supposed to, again.

Gianpiero had been assigned Max because they were similar, in the sense that they both got additional nourishment from broken dreams. Gianpiero has easily sated that urge by working in a Formula 1 team, because someone is always losing. It's delicious.

Max is younger, irresponsible and still full of life, despite his status as undead. He'd been excited to be a racer instead, claiming that the broken dreams tasted sweeter when he was responsible for them.

It works well during the season, but...

It's times like now, in the middle of the offseason, that Gianpiero is reminded why Max still needs supervision.

"Christ, you're high maintenance."

He shoves Max back into the bed, determined to ignore the way he blinks up at him, lips parted as he arches his back.

"Come on, just a little, please, I'll be so good, I'll even let Checo get some points this year."

Gianpiero gathers his wrists above his head, forcing his eyes away from his splayed thighs, pale skin on display.

"Like you let Alex? Right, I'll believe it when I see it."

Max pouts up at him, pointed fangs peeking out over the curve of his bottom lip.

"That wasn't my fault, it was his fault, you can't get mad about it."

Gianpiero rolls his eyes, free hand skimming across Max's chest, tweaking at a nipple under his shirt, listening to his small gasp as he squirms.

"Because nothing is ever your fault, is it? Perfect little golden boy who does no wrong?"

There's a sharp gleam in Max's eyes when he grins up at him, predatory and hungry.

"I'm so good, daddy. I'm destroying them every time, I'm feeding us both, I do such a good job, tell me I'm good daddy, please—"

Gianpiero cuts him off, pinching one of his fangs between his index finger and thumb, watching Max's tongue dart out at lick at his fingers.

"You're gluttonous is what you are. You can't ration, you gorge during the season, and then you get all thirsty and desperate over break. Why should I help you, hmm? Don't you think I've done enough for you?"

Max licks at the pad of his thumb, hips canting up underneath him. He can't respond, not with Gianpiero's fingers in his mouth, but he pushes his hips up into Gianpiero, squirming where he's pinned at his wrists.

Gianpiero sighs, shaking Max's head with his tooth.

"You're pathetic, lad. Stay here."

Max nods, wide eyed as Gianpiero slides out of bed, padding into the kitchen. He has a blood bag in the fridge somewhere— and despite his attitude, he always keeps O+ stocked for Max.

He hears a quiet gasp from his room again, rolling his eyes as he makes his way back to the bedroom, blood bag in hand.

Max has two fingers pushed inside himself, arching off the bed as his lashes flutter shut. He's long limbed, body stuck in time forever, all pale skin and corded muscle, legs spread wide on the bed.

"Max."

Gianpiero hears the edge to his voice, setting the blood bag on the bedside table.

Max's eyes blink back open, pupils blown. He knows what he looks like, stretched out with his fingers inside of him. He knows what it does to Gianpiero.

There's a smug curl in his lips, because he's getting exactly what he wants. Gianpiero is giving in again.

"Get your fingers out, you little brat. It's supposed to be a punishment, since you can't remember to behave."

He pulls them out, blue eyes tracking the way Gianpiero shivers at the sound.

"Hands on the headboard."

Max is still smug as his fingers curl into the headboard, sharp nails fitting perfectly into the dents that he'd left behind years ago. Gianpiero sheds his boxers, one hand stroking himself to hardness as he grabs the blood bag with the other.

There's lube in the drawer, just enough for him to slick up his own cock, although he doesn't spare any time for Max— and Max knows the rules, so he won't feel bad either. His little brat was perfectly aware of what he was doing.

Max's eyes are trained on the blood bag as Gianpiero hitches one leg up, thumb tracing at his rim before he slides in.

He's tight, a sensation that Gianpiero knows he should be used to by now, but never gets any less addictive, and the broken moan that rips out of him at the first snap of his hips is music to his ears.

"Daddy—"

Gianpiero snags the blood bag, hooking one nail into the corner as he rolls his hips, pushing deeper into Max. His face is twisted in discomfort, but he bucks up to meet his thrusts, tiny gasps falling from his lips.

"You can beg prettier than that, I've heard it."

Max pouts again, squirming as Gianpiero fucks into him, tightening impossibly further around him.

"Please, I'll be so good, I'll ration it, I'll suck your cock, whatever you want— daddy please give it to me, need it so bad—"

Gianpiero rips at the corner, pressing it into Max's mouth, past his perfect gleaming fangs. Max likes to be messy with it, moaning loudly as it flows into his mouth, rivulets of crimson spilling over his lips. Gianpiero leans down, licking at the mess as he snaps his hips in again, Max's ankles hooked behind his back.

It's intoxicating, watching the life return back to him— the flush building in his face, spreading up to his ears and down his chest, the slow increase of body heat between them.

Max desperately sucks at the remains in the bag, blood smeared down his chin and dripping down his neck, twisting his hips to meet Gianpiero's thrusts. He's dutifully kept his hands curled around the headboard, nails digging into the wood.

Gianpiero runs his fingers across the mess on his face, wrapping them around his cock as he leans in and kisses him, slick with spit and the copper tang of blood.

Max whines into his mouth as Gianpiero jerks him off, frantically bucking into his hand. He's trembling, muscles locking up, and he knows he's close, just needs a little more.

Gianpiero licks across the roof of his mouth, muffling his moaning as he fucks in hard, pressing Max into the mattress, fingers around his cock in a slippery ring as he thumbs at the head of it.

Max wails into his mouth as he comes, and Gianpiero can hear the familiar sound of wood splintering. He doesn't stop, keeping his harsh pace even as Max starts to squirm again, licking across his smaller fangs before pressing his own against Max's throat.

Their fangs get longer with age— Max has young fangs still, cute when they poke over his lip. Gianpiero's are longer, leaving faint indents in Max's skin. Max shudders, mouth falling open as tears build at his lashes.

"Daddy please—"

His voice is high and whiny, and he's so tight even after his orgasm, blue eyes watery where he's watching Gianpiero, cheeks flushed with fresh blood.

Gianpiero sinks his teeth into his neck when he comes, hips pressed flushed to Max's ass as he wails, legs kicking out, head tossed back into the pillows.

He's thrashing, pinned by Gianpiero's weight and hands, by his own obedience keeping his fingers curled tight in the headboard, even as the tears start to fall.

Gianpiero drinks in a large mouthful, pushing a thumb against the pinpricks of blood when he detaches, curling over Max's body to press their lips together.

He lets the blood spill from his mouth to Max's, grinning at the way Max desperately kisses him, frantically trying to catch every drop.

He leans back, satisfied with his work. Max is debauched underneath him, lashes clumped with tears, cum splattered across his stomach, dripping from between his legs. His knuckles are white around the headboard, muscles in his arms straining.

Gianpiero shakes his head, tutting softly.

"You're a mess, Max. Not sure how I could ever clear you to be on your own yet, not when you can't even feed neatly."

Wide blue eyes blink up at him.

"But I'm good, daddy?"

Gianpiero leans down, thumb brushing over Max's pouting bottom lip, licking at a stray drop of blood.

"You're perfect, baby."

[starrvsn]

ꕮ ˚₊ ꒰ 𖥻81 OSCAR PIASTRI ⁾⁾ DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS

﹙ MOVIE/FANDOM ⠆FORMULA 1/MCLAREN﹚

CATEGORIES ⠆fluffy! mentions of being drunk and drinking, oscar being a clingy drunk (reader lives for it), mention(1) of a spiked drink, cool, calm and collected oscar is def the opposite when he's drunk, frat!au, house-party!au. i love me a good frat!au so here’s a lil me to you :)

ON ROTATION! honey by troye sivan, is this love by xg, silver lining by laufey, too much of a good thing by niki, warm by ariana grande, adore u but fred again, better distractions by faye webster.

𝟒𝟏𝟏. as nonchalant oscar wants to act that facade can never carry when he gets drunk.

any interaction you can recall with oscar, he has never once spared you a glance when you’re around. well, it’s not as if he ignores your existence completely— he just doesn’t entertain talking to you, only sparing words and pleasantries in group settings but never speaking when you find yourself alone with him. lacking commonality and instead finding solace in his phone.

at first it had bothered you, you brought it up with lando and thought he was taking a piss when he compared oscar to an onion, just like oscar who has layers and how hard it is for him to get truly comfortable around people. which you find hard to believe considering how he’s friends with so many people but that’s besides the point. eventually, you learned to move passed it and manage to just coexist with oscar when he's around. choosing to not entertain any other conversation and just sticking with small talk that always leads to awkward silence. it completely left your mind until tonight, lando and max decided to throw a rager at the frat in celebration of finals ending. you hadn't planned on going but with lando blowing up your phone and max begging you to bring ice when you're on the way, praying max pays you back as you let yourself in. the six pound bags of ice weighing you down as you try to maneuver your way through the sea of people. you barely make it into the kitchen after dodging a rouge ping pong ball and girls tripping over themselves when you hear him:

"here, let me help." his soft tenor voice almost blends with the loud bass.

the moment passes in a blur, you can barely comprehend when oscar easily picks the bags from your hands, but feel when his fingers brush yours as he does so. easily placing them on the counter, he turns back to you with an easy smile — casual, unbothered. it completely throws you for a loop. you barely have time to blink before he's swept away, his pink polo disappearing into the flood of students, laughter, and pounding bass. you stand there for a second longer than you probably should, blinking after him, wondering if maybe the night had already gotten to your head.

because oscar— who barely bothered to spare you a glance when you were around, barely interacted with you—had just touched your hand. and helped you.

you shake it off with a small laugh, chalking it up to some drunk instinct or polite reflex. you busy yourself with looking for max and telling him your brought ice and that he better pay you back or you'll cut his balls off before he can fall asleep tonight, ignoring the way your voice slightly trembles and how your hand tingles, the leftover warmth from his brief touch still lingering. you hadn’t even gotten a thank you in before he vanished.

you don't see him after that, and you try to convince yourself that you're okay with it. thank god you're at a party because drinking, is the perfect way to get him off your mind. you eventually move into the living room where there's a massive round table of liquor, taking shots with some other mutual friends, finally feeling yourself loosen up, finally letting go of any thoughts of that freckled faced, brunette boy— when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"y/n!" oscar’s voice is louder now, a little breathless, a little too close. when you turn, you find him grinning — grinning — at you, cheeks flushed under the warm party lights. his pink polo now loose a few buttons, his hair slightly ruffled and tuffed in some places, but he looks... happy. genuinely happy to see you.

you feel all the alcohol flush your system in that moment.

"i was looking for you!" he says, as if you’re old friends, as if the months of mutual polite ignoring never happened. he sways slightly, his hand still holding onto your shoulder as if he's afraid he'll lose your attention.

he's got your attention alright.

"looking for me?" you repeat, is this real life? had someone spiked your drink? maybe he'd mistaken you for someone else with how drunk he is.

"yeah!" he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "you're always, like, cool. y'know? and chill. and you brought ice! that’s so sick!" his voice slurred and eyes almost drooping closed, he speaks as if these compliments were second nature, his voice bright and full of emotion... as if he meant it.

you blink. barely processing his words, your mind was in a frenzy, all your pass interactions flashing in your mind as if you were trying to ground yourself in what is happening, denying that oscar can having any feeling for you. before you can react, he’s slumping half against you, clearly drunk, his body warm and heavy as he wraps one arm loosely around your waist.

"you smell good," he mutters. taking an exaggerated sniff and loudly sighs contently when he’s satisfied.

you freeze, unsure what to do. you should push him away, tell him off for acting this way so suddenly… but you don’t, you can’t let yourself. somewhere across the room, you catch lando grinning with a shit eating grin. raising his drink toward you in a silent toast.

you think you might kill him later.

what had oscar drank tonight? you wonder as you find yourself trapped in oscar’s embrace. oscar, the freckled and brunette man that always managed to invade your thoughts— oscar, once distant and cold, is now practically melting against you, mumbling none sense under his breath as the party rages on around you.

the party stills around you as you try to gage a singular, solid thought on how to go about this. you’re stood in the middle of the living room as people party around you, not minding a single glance to the total absurdity that was going on between you and oscar, because never in a million years had you thought this was ever going to happen, but the universe has amazing ways in surprising you and presenting it in oscar as he clings to you like a koala on a branch.

your body practically leans into oscar’s touch when he pulls you closer, hair tickling your face, and oscar is none the wiser. your faced is flushed and in need of some space from oscar. scanning across the packed room, your eyes landing on a vacant love seat a few steps away. finally doing something, you guide him to the couch, trying to ignore the way your heart feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest. sitting oscar on the opposite side of, the rather small couch. he slouches on the seat, head leaned against the top. breathing a sigh of relief but also feeling sad to be a away from oscar’s touch, you settle a few inches away from him on the seat. and like a moth to a flame, oscar practically drapes himself over you the second you sit down, his head finding the crook of your neck like he belongs there.

at this point, you feel sober— watching as people move around the room, laughing, yelling over the music, cups full of booze slushing out of the cups. it’s loud and chaotic, acutely aware that you’re suddenly snuggled up with oscar piastri— a man you barely know despite being friends with lando so long, but you can’t seem to think about it too much, because you find solace in the steady warmth of him against your side, and the fact that he’s acting like he’s known you forever instead of... barely tolerating your existence until tonight. even if it was just tonight and the next day he’d act like nothing happened, you’d regret nothing.

every time you shift even a little, oscar makes a small whiny sound deep in his throat, clinging tighter like you're about to evaporate into thin air.

"you're comfy," he slurs, his breath warm against your skin. "you're so... nice. you're always nice to me."

you laugh under your breath, unsure how to even respond. “i try my best.”

he leans back just enough to look at you, his brows furrowed like you’ve offended him “no, no need to try. you’re… he pauses, frowning as he tries to find the words. "you’re like... peace."

your breath catches.

you’ve never gotten anything from oscar before—no small talk, no extra glances, no signs that he even noticed you beyond the fact that you shared mutual friends. and now he’s here, clinging to you like he’d fall apart if you let him go, drunkenly spilling out things you’re sure he’d never dare say sober.

he’s still staring at you, his hand fumbling to find yours and squeezing it tightly.

"i get scared," he says suddenly, voice dropping so low you have to lean in to hear him over the music. "around people. like... if they see too much, they’ll leave."

your heart aches a little.

"i would never leave," you whisper, instinctively squeezing his hand back.

he smiles then—really smiles—and it’s so genuine, so soft that it knocks the air right out of your lungs.

"that's why i like you," he mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as he rests his forehead against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "you're the only one i don't gotta pretend with."

you stay there for a moment, frozen, while around you the party goes on like nothing’s changed. but for you everything has changed and this night has gone completely different than what you imagined.

oscar doesn’t say anything, you don’t say anything. and you both kinda just lay there. enjoying each others warmth and company as the night passes, you catch some of your friends throw you knowing glances ones that you feign ignorance to. he nuzzles his face further into your neck, making himself comfortable, his hand still loosely tangled with yours in his lap, and his breathing has started to even out—soft, steady, warm. the chaos of the party feels miles away now, dulled into a background hum.

it wasn’t long until oscar falls asleep on you, feeling him sink further onto you, his breath evening out and the grip on your hand loosening. your thoughts creep on you slowly: oscar is sleeping on you, oscar felt comfortable and venerable enough to sleep— drunk or not, he never once protested. and neither did you. you felt comfortable and tried your hardest to not run your hands through his hair. you shift just slightly to get a better look at him, and your chest tightens at what you see:

his eyes are closed, lashes brushing his cheeks, mouth parted slightly in the most vulnerable, boyish expression you’ve ever seen on him.

slowly, carefully, you settle back against the cushions, totally giving into him— letting your feelings win and your heart lead with this one, especially after what he told you, that he likes you, thinks you’re peace, and you let yourself believe that. letting oscar’s weight slump against you more fully. His head tips down to your shoulder with a quiet sigh, like even in sleep, he’s trying to get closer.

your heart twists, soft and aching.

the party thins out eventually, people either leaving or crashing wherever they can find space. the lights are dimmer now, the music quieter, reduced to someone's half-finished playlist buzzing from a speaker shoved into a corner.

blissfully in your own world, you don’t catch lando watching again. a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. setting his drink down and making is way towards the both of you

you’re still tucked into the same spot on the couch, Oscar dead to the world, his body slack against yours. his arm is draped possessively across your waist now, fingers twisted gently into the hem of your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll slip away while he sleeps.

you’re achingly aware of him—his weight, his warmth, the soft little breaths that tickle against your neck. every once in a while he makes these tiny, content noises, nuzzling closer without even waking up.

you’re starting to get drowsy yourself when a voice cuts through the low hum of the room:

“well, well, well.”

you lift your head (carefully, so you don't wake oscar) to see lando standing in front of you, arms crossed over his chest, looking like he’s trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

“this is very interesting,” he says, a shit-eating grin stretching across his face.

you glare at him half-heartedly. “go away.”

lando only snickers, stepping closer and squatting down in front of you to get a better look. oscar shifts in his sleep, tightening his grip around you like he senses the intrusion even through his dreams.

“would you look at that,” lando coos mockingly. “didn’t peg him for a cuddler. especially not with you.”

you flip him off without moving the hand Oscar isn't clinging to.

lando just laughs harder. “and here i thought he hated you.”

“same,” you mutter under your breath.

lando’s grin softens just a little. “he doesn’t. never did, probably. he's just… oscar. shit at feelings.” He stands up, tossing you a wink. “but clearly, you're special. i mean—” he gestures exaggeratedly at the way oscar is practically wrapped around you. “evidence speaks for itself.”

before you can even think of a comeback, oscar stirs again, grumbling something incoherent and nuzzling even closer into you. you swear you feel him mumble your name, breath warm against your collarbone.

lando clutches his chest like he’s physically wounded. “oh, that's disgustingly cute. I’m telling him all about this tomorrow.”

you don’t even bother arguing. you just sink a little further into the couch, feeling oscar’s fingers twitch against your side, his whole body pressed firmly against yours.

maybe tomorrow oscar would go back to being distant, to hiding behind his phone and awkward silences. maybe this was just drunk clinginess he’d be too embarrassed to even remember.

but maybe, maybe it meant something more.

bonus! (cus im a sucker for morning afters)

the sunlight hits you before anything else does. bright golden rays spilling through the blinds, you feel like you've barely slept and you didn't even intend to fall asleep but you were felt so comfortable after your conversation with lando, that when you closed your eyes for a second you were already drifting. your brain is slow to register anything beyond warmth. there's a weight draped over you—familiar, heavy, and for a split second, you're confused.

then you glance down.

oscar still asleep. still curled into your side. somehow your position moved from sitting up to, now laying on the cramped couch. oscar almost fully on you assumed on how your unable to feel your right arm. one of his legs is tangled with yours, his arm slung firmly around your waist, and his forehead is smushed against your chest.

a breath leaves you, you don't know what to think, how do you get out of this?

you blink. once. twice. your heart picks up speed, faster than it has any right to, because he's still here. still holding you.

and then—he stirs.

it starts with a soft groan, muffled against your shirt. his grip tightens for a second before slowly loosening, like his body’s waking up before his brain is. his fingers twitch at your side, and you can feel the exact moment the realization hits.

he freezes. lifts his head just slightly. to then to the position in which you're both situated.

his eyes widen swirls of a million different emotions in them.

“...shit.”

“good morning to you too,” you say, amused, though you’re trying very hard to act like your heart isn’t in full meltdown mode.

oscar pulls back like you’re made of fire, ignoring his pounding headache and the faint scent of your perfume. practically launching himself to the other end of the couch. his hair’s a mess, his polo is rumpled, and there’s a red mark on his cheek from where he’d been pressed against you.

“i—did i—did we—” he stammers, hands flying everywhere, gesturing to the couch, to you, to the entire concept of last night.

“you got drunk,” you say, keeping it simple. “very, very drunk. And then you decided i was your emotional support human.”

oscar blinks at you, clearly trying to summon memories from the fog in his brain. “…oh god. did I say anything?”

you pause.

you could either tell him the truth, or just avoid the whole confrontation- because what if he rejects you? what if he suddenly back tracks on what he said? what if he friend zones you? you could mess with him. ignore this whole mess, and play it off, but that would leave so many things un answered so you tell the truth. no beating around the bush.

“just that you liked me,” you say softly. “that you didn’t have to pretend around me.”

he stares at you. his eyes downcast with an unreadable expression.

then, quietly—almost like a whisper. he says, “i wasn’t drunk enough to lie about that.”

your breath catches.

he rubs a hand down his face, suddenly looking more tired than hungover. “i just… didn’t know how to talk to you. you always seemed so... cool and kind. and like, way out of my league.”

you blink. “me?” because you thought it was the other way around, you always found oscar attractive and amusing but you thought no way you could make something out of nothing. but the feelings are definitely mutual.

oscar looks up, sheepish. “yeah. you.”

and just like that, the boy who once couldn’t spare you more than a glance is sitting across from you—nervous, bare-faced, and finally talking to you.

before you can say anything else, lando walks by, a protein bar in hand and a wicked grin on his face. “so,” he says, popping the wrapper. “you two want matching ‘we cuddled on the couch and now we’re in love’ shirts, or…?”

oscar groans and drops his face back into his hands. not sparing lando the finger as he snickers maniacally when he leaves to the kitchen.

you smile, wide and real. because maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something new.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

[f1gc]

formula 1 graphic challenge - may

hello again! somehow it's nearly may

how it works:

at the beginning of the month, you and another blog are given the same image of a driver you both like

you have until the end of the month to make a graphic featuring that image

you can sign up for up to 3 graphics! (the limit of 3 is new this month, i just have limited time for pairing and image sourcing)

entering:

fill out this google form by 9am est may 1

reblog this post (as always, we're not gonna like. check. but the more people the better, no?)

assignments will be sent out via dm (so if you have your dms set to people you follow only you'll need to follow @albon-no)

posting:

posting begins the day assignments go out and ends the last day of the month (may 1 - may 31)

post the graphic to your own blog, and be sure to tag your partner's blog and this blog

that's it! this is open to anyone and everyone who likes f1, so even if you've never made a graphic before, now's your chance to start! if you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask :)

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood: Polarity- Chapter 3: A Long Day

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64077811/chapters/167453419

A sheet of paper full of equations is placed in front of her, after a lecture about the order of operations and how to access the computing portion of their processors to make this trivial, they were super advanced computers after all.

And yet…

Tera stared down at the paper with a pencil in her hand, reading the first question over and over and over again, it was easy, or should have been. Simple long devision as a warm up before the harder questions. All she had to do was… compute.

Her brain-her processors attempted to calculate the numbers, only to freeze halfway through like an ancient machine running on the worlds shittiest hard drive. The numbers seemed to change the longer she looked at them, 5’s becoming 3’s and 6’s becoming 9’s. A nervous sweat started to appear on her visor, instead now trying to solve the problem organically, writing down the equation on paper and working to solve it that way. That didn’t work either, the numbers floated off the page to become unintelligible runes.

She may as well have been trying to decipher hieroglyphs.

She groaned and threw her head back.

An hour later, the paper was slammed back down on her desk with a big fat red 45% etched in huge letters on the corner. She wasn't sure if getting a 0 would be better, or worse, then at least she could claim she was just stupid. But getting something right using the incorrect formula just confused her further.

She grumbled, and stuffed it in her bag with a growl.

Rad took a single look her and chortled. “I think teach just likes to bleed all over your papers dude. I know you can't be that bad.”

It was intended to cheer her up, but it really didn't, she was a robot! A computer! Her building blocks were in fucking binary! What computer couldn't do the thing they were named after- compute?!

So she just sighed. “Just shut up man…”

Rad pouted for a moment, before his eyes lit up, if it was any more obvious he'd gotten an idea, a big green light bulb would have popped up over his head. “Bet I can beat you in a race to biology.”

Tera's tail perked up as she gathered her things, a smirk replaced a frown. “Not a chance man, I'm way faster!”

“Prove it Lucky Bat!” And with that, he raced down the hall as fast as his hydrolic powered legs could carry him.

He knew he wasn't going to win.

And when he felt the wind of Tera sprinting ahead rush past him, all he could do was laugh as the purple blur rushed inside the next class, startling several other students who gave the solver drone a nasty look as she blasted past them.

“Hah! Fuck ye-SHIT!”

Kiara was at her desk, supposedly waiting for her, her eyelights go hollow as Tera barrels towards her and the worker braces for impact with her best freind.

Tera pumps the breaks hard and fast, she can feel herself skidding across the polished stone floor, she holds her hands out to try and salvage the situation and-

She stops a hairs breath from her, panting as her arms brush against Kiara's arms, the plan being to grab her and then stop them both to avoid hurting her.

Now though it's just a slightly awkward half-hug.

Tera gulps and her visor flushes a neon flavored purple.

“Y-you okay?” She asked through her throat near closing in embarrassment, she probably needed to back up, or at least let go before asking… but she wouldn't be a Doorman if she wasn't painfully awkward.

Kiara blinked, still processing the fact she wasn't melted slag stuck to the floor before she looks up with a smile. “I'm fine! Little bit of a close one there yeah?”

Tera grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head as she stepped back. “Sorry, Rad challenged me to a race and…”

“…you can't say no to a challenge?” The worker giggled. “I figured. Looks like you won though.” Her eyes flicker to the doorway.

Rad came in panting, smiling, but panting. “Oh man… have you gotten even faster? It's like you teleported!” His vents kick up to max trying to cool him off, and he rests his hands on his knees. “Dang.”

Tera smirked. “You're just a slowpoke.”

Kiara brought her attention back with a featherlight touch to her arm, Tera tried to ignore the shock that passed up through her sensors.

“I need your help.” She spoke quietly. “Mrs. Finley gave us homework about Nightstalkers and I completely forgot about it!” Kiara pouted, looking a little ashamed of herself.

“You? Forgetting homework? How scandalous.” Tera quipped back, laughing when Kiara pouted even more.

“I… had a rough night.” The worker replied softly, rubbing her shoulder and looking away, Tera felt like she just swallowed acid.

“Yeah. I can help. Mrs.Finley gives us 15 minutes to look over it before asking for it anyway. Pull up your chair.” Tera replied, smiling down. “No copying though, that would be unethical.” She parrots her best freinds words and the worker smacks her lightly. “You!”

“Thank you…”

Tera turns back to look at Rad. “You forget yours too?”

He blinked stupidly. “Forget what?”

Tera sighed. “Pull up a chair String Bean.”

They both pull up thier chairs on either side of Tera's desk, which was luckily large enough to uncomfortably fit them all.

Rad dug out a crumpled paper from his bag, laughing warily when Kiara eyed him like he'd committed murder, Tera pulled out her completed work, along with a little leather bound journal.

“Rad you can just copy. You're not going to read it anyway.” Tera says deadpan, and the young man grins and begins copying the answers down in barely legible chicken scratch.

Then she turns to Kiara. “Alright, first question…”

How large to Nightstalkers get?

She opens her journal to a page of notes, accompanied by a rough sketch of a nightstalker.

“So they average around 20 feet in height fully grown, not counting the horns or you'd add another 2, I don't think Mrs. Finley counts them, or just would prefer the easier to remember number for us.” Tera points to where she'd jotted down their heights.

“I've never seen one that big…” Kiara writes it down, but looks up at Tera to explain.

“Their deeper in the jungle… plus that's what we have hunting parties for, V doesn't really let one that big stick around if it does wander towards us.”

When are Nightstalkers at their most deadly?

“I know that one! They get really hormonal and angry when they become teenagers… soo.” The worker taps a pen on her cheek. “What age is that?”

“2 and a half usually.” Tera answers.

The fat on the top of a Nightstalkers back is both armor and heat regulation, it is called what?

“Blubber.”

Kiara laughs. “That's not a real word.”

“I promise it is, and it's right.” Tera replies. “You haven't tried to drive a blade through that, it may as well be steel.”

They continue, Kiara asking questions, trying to actually learn the material while Tera answers with either a note from her hunting journal or a quick anecdote. All with the background noise of Rad furiously scribbling.

They finish just in time for Mrs. Finley to walk in, 15 minutes after the bell rang.

“Alright everyone. Hand me your homework and we'll get started, the next species we'll be focusing on is the Deersheep…”

Kiara and Rad scooted thier chairs back to where they should've been- to the desks either side of her.

Text flickered up on Kiara's visor. [THANK YOU!]

Rad chuckled. “Cheers Dude.”

Tera leaned back and smiled, handing up her paper to the teacher now doing laps around the classroom to collect the work, she pauses at Rads. “Mr. Hayes.”

“Yes'm?”

“Why have you written down Miss Doorman’s name in place of your own?

Tera facepalmed. Kiara rolled her eyes. Rad smiled like a dead man. “Ahah…”

Mrs.Finley's bright blue eyelights trailed over to Tera. “Did you know about this?”

Tera wracked her brain quickly. “We did a study group together, he must have done it as a joke when we were talking about how he often forgets to write his name.”

The blue eyelights narrowed, she brushed a hand though her tightly spun and frazzled brown hair, and she sighed.

“If I didn't have multiple nameless papers from you. Mr. Hayes, I wouldn't believe her. Don't do it again.”

After she walks away towards her desk, Rad untested. “Woo… saved my life there…” He said quietly.

“I can't belive you wrote my name! You dumbass!” Tera gave an incredulous and amused smile. “You could've gotten me in trouble too!” She whisper-yelled.

The rest of the day was long, tedious, and sufficiently boring enough to put her on autopilot, sure she was present for her freinds but… anywhere else. Mind off somewhere in the jungle and outwardly expressing that classic Doorman brand resting bitch face.

At lunch, they were let out into the cafeteria and served deep fried copper nuggets, bolts, and a side of batteries. Which Tera inhaled like a starving animal before her two freinds even had a chance to touch thiers.

“Dude.”

“Slow down your gonna choke!”

Her two respective freinds called out, but she didn't listen, licking her lips in satisfaction. “Ahhh~”

To finish it off, she reached into her pocket to pull out a dented and well worn silver canteen, gulping down sweet and tangy oil like it was drops of heaven.

She pulled off it when it was half empty, wiping her mouth of the excess.

In all honesty… she was still hungry.

Though she was always hungry nowadays.

“Vampire.” Rad coughed.

“It comes from the ground. I'm not a fucking vampire!” Tera immediately protested. “You eat the soup at the food court! It's the same thing!”

Kiara giggled, Rad teased poor Tera about that every chance he got. She had to be sick of it by now…

She hummed to herself as she finished out a sketch of a lion, as realistic as one could without never seeing one outside of pictures and ancient documentaries, she began to shade it so the fur looked black, letting Tera and Rads bickering become white noise.

More classes, more work; right after lunch she still had Rad and Kiara in an advanced English class, where the focus was more on the history of linguistics and the written word then reading comprehension- when your whole student body can take screenshots with thier eyes; you stop worrying about retaining information organically.

But afterwards, she was alone in an architectural engineering class that was more numbers and measurements then actually building things and she was back to slamming her head against the wall in frustration, doubled because now… the math was applied.

She did well in the practical projects like build a bridge out of sticks, or make a model pully that works under a specific weight threshold. She could trial and error that, and she was really good at eyeballing measurements even if she was shit at exact numbers- but the second she had to figure out exactly what degrees a triangle needed to be to support X amount of weight she wanted to eat the damn paper.

“Ugh…”

She crossed her arms, and tuned out of the lecture, instead spacing out while looking vaguely forward to give the illusion that she was still paying attention.

Maybe you have so much trouble because you refuse to actually pay attention.

A monotone and robotic mockery of her own voice whispered, she'd have winced at the suddenness of it if it wasn't wholly expected at this point. She ignored it.

Or maybe you're just an idiot.

That's okay though… smarts would be wasted on a killing machine.

She growled, tightening her fist but giving the entity that lived in her head no response.

At least until she blinked, and suddenly she was standing at the front of the classroom, drones screaming in fear as they tried to get out of the door in a panic. She blinked in confusion for a moment before her eyelights went hollow.

Hanging limp in her now, fleshy, bladed claws was Mr. Riker, Oil bathing her arm and pooling all over the floor, the smell was intoxicating, ever present, and assaulted her olfactory receptors like a persistent tagalong.

She jumped, the movement making the lifeless corpse slide off her bladed fingers and into a heap on the floor, she began to hyperventilate. The word “no” repeating from her lips like a mantra as she backs herself into a corner trembling like a leaf.

“No no- I didn't, I don’t know- I'm sorry!”

“Miss Doorman!”

Slam!

She's startled awake by Mr. Riker slamming a book on her desk, making her yelp in fear, a yellow solver symbol dissappearing from her eyelight. She pants, taking in the students staring at her, some snickering, before her eyelights flickered back up to the drone she just skewered.

“I know buttresses are boring, but please refrain from falling asleep in my class.”

A chorus of giggles passed through the classroom lile a wave.

The teacher rolled their eyes and left her be, which was good, because once all the eyes were off her again she let out a shaky breath and looked down at her hands, normal, even with the animal-like pads on her hands given by the solver.

She squeezed them into fists and sighed, burying her head in her hands and wanting to scream.

Instead she went back to staring at the front, stress lines under her eyes as her mind returns to silence.

She comes out of the classroom hunched over and emotionally drained, tail limp and half dragging across the floor like a zombie. She takes her canteen and drinks the rest of the oil to try and relax her… anything.

“Ter!” Kiara calls from the front door of the school, the day for the upperclassmen being over to go to their field training. Her eyelights looked up, tail perking up a little.

“I'm heading to the clinic for my last two hours, but…I was wondering if you saw my messages?”

Oh crap!

“I did! I can take you and Rad out past the walls this weekend if you want! It's just been a… weird day. Sorry.”

Kiara's eyes lit up. “Really! Awesome! Thank you, Thank you!” She pushed forward to wrap the solver drone in a tight hug. She found herself smiling, despite it all.

“Yeah yeah… keep quiet about it, you know I'm not supposed to…”

Kiara nodded, releasing her and fluttering out the door with a wave. Tera sighed as she leaned against the doorway to outside. Watching her leave.

…and off to the barracks for her field training.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

I hc that chat lacks self-preservation instincts because Adrien uses Chat as a form of escapism and kinda disassociates from real life, thus making it not truly come across to him how dangerous he is actually being. What are your thoughts on this "theory"/idea/thoughts on why Chat almost kills himself constantly.

Warning! Doyalistic analysis incoming: I think you've put more thought into the topic than the writers have. We're six seasons in and I can't think of a single episode where Adrien's self sacrificing streak was treated as a problem. I don't think that canon even acknowledges that it's a reoccurring issue. Every time he's killed, mind controlled, or otherwise incapacitated is treated like the first time because this is a formula show and you're generally supposed to view every episode as a standalone story even if it often doesn't feel like one.

While I don't like that canon made that choice, I will defend it to a mild extent because I get why it keeps happening. Or, at least, I think I do. My best guess is that the writers aren't viewing the self-sacrificing thing as a serious character beat. They're just using a standard trope and Adrien just so happens to consistently be the easiest character to shove into the role that the trope requires.

The trope in question is usually called the "red shirt" trope and, to save myself some time, I'm just going to quote TV Tropes' to explain what it's all about:

[Red shirts] are the Good Counterpart of Evil Minions and Mooks — set filler for our heroes' side. Their purpose is almost exclusively to give the writers someone to kill who isn't a main character... [Red shirts] are used to show how the monster works, and demonstrate that it is indeed a deadly menace, without having to lose anyone important. Expect someone to say "He's Dead, Jim", lament this "valued crew member's senseless death", and then promptly forget him. Security personnel in general fall victim to the worst shade of this trope, as most of the time their deaths aren't even acknowledged at all; according to Hollywood, you could walk into a bank and shoot a security guard right in the face without anyone making a fuss.

All of the above is why canon consistently lets characters be disintegrated, captured, mind controlled, and so on. These moments are not meant to be serious character beats. They're just there so that the show can raise the stakes for the day's fight.

While the trope is usually reserved for random characters that don't matter, Miraculous tends to use established characters instead because there's a magical reset mechanic which makes negative status effects a temporary issue. It's less the writers calling Chat Noir useless and more them taking advantage of the fact that they can "red shirt" characters that the audience actually cares about. That's a much better way to raise the stakes than red shirting a random character that the audience has never met.

Zombizou is a perfect example of this. That episode sees the entire miracuclass sacrifice themselves, but the message is not that they all have self worth issues. The message is that they trust Ladybug which is the only message canon is trying to send on the occasions when self sacrifice is actively chosen by a character, thus dialogue like this dialogue from Lies:

Cat Noir: There are only two liars left in Paris and one of them knows the ultimate way to catch her attention. Ladybug: No way! Don't do it! What if I fail?! Cat Noir: You know what? I trust you.

Other episodes see the self-sacrifice happen by accident and those don't even get a line about trust. It's just there to raise the stakes.

Of course, that's the Doyalistic explanation. If you want to get Watsonian, then I think your take is a solid one! I just don't think that it's even remotely intentional which is why I would only go Watsonian if you're doing something like writing a fanfic. Don't expect canon to ever address this issue because canon doesn't see it as an issue. It's even one area where I don't judge canon too harshly because this is a really standard trope so I get why they keep using it. Every episode has a fight and you have to do something to keep them interesting! I don't know how you make 130+ fights feel serious without some red-shirt-style moments. That's why the trope exists! It's just the nature of the beast.

My only real criticism is that Miraculous keeps red shirting a character that a lot of the audience understandably views as having self worth issues. That's not a choice that I'd personally make. If Adrien is going to be your standard red shirt option, then don't make him read as depressed and struggling to find his place in the world. Or, at the very least, round robin the red shirt role between the various cast members so that Adrien doesn't stand out in the role! In my opinion, it's yet another case of the writers really not thinking beyond the most surface level implications of their writing choices.

Since you seemed interested, I'll note that my favorite way to address the self sacrificing issue is to have this behavior come from Adrien doing what needs to be done even though he has no desire to die or even just be hurt. After all, Ladybug does need to survive every fight. She's the one with the cure! He's right to protect her! The story doesn't end there, though. Instead of just accepting this, I use it as a way to bring Carapace onto the team because you don't want to just randomly expand the team. Establish a problem, then expand the team to solve it. Ladybug needs to survive every fight and Chat Noir keeps getting hurt? Bring in a human shield. Problem solved!

[psychoticallytrans]

I've realized nothing is stopping me from releasing my favorite recipe for cream biscuits on all of you.

Listen to me. If you have the ingredients, you can have warm biscuits in half an hour from the time you read this. Have them with jam.

Ingredients:

3 cups (450g) all-purpose flour. I like to sub in some whole wheat for part of it to discourage gluten development, but that will reduce browning.

4 teaspoons (16 g) white sugar. Important for the correct moisture level.

1 tablespoon (9g) baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda. Too little for my scale to register, but you will regret it if you do not add it- they don't rise properly.

2 cups heavy cream. Yes. One pint of cream.

Tools:

Stiff spatula that's also good for scraping

Bowl that can hold at least a quart

Parchment paper

Baking sheet (at least one)

A scale that measures in grams OR a dry cup measure, a dry tablespoon measure, and a dry teaspoon measure

A dry 1/3 cup measure and a dry 1/4 teaspoon measure

A wet measure that can hold two cups, preferably microwavable. If not, you'll need a microwavable bowl that can hold two cups.

Directions:

First, put one of the racks of your oven in the upper-middle.

Next, set your oven to preheat to 450 Fahrenheit. This will seriously only take a bit to throw together, so you do actually need to start your oven before the recipe.

After that, measure out the cream and microwave it for 30 seconds. What you're doing here is making it warmer and runnier so that it mixes into the batter better.

While the cream is thinking about itself in the microwave, measure out and mix together all of the dry ingredients in the quart bowl. (You can use a whisk here if you want, but really, the spatula works fine and can be reused when the batter is wet.)

Microwave the cream again for another 30 seconds. You waited between these to let the heat even out inside the cream. (You could also get this effect by stirring it, but then it's another thing you need to wash later.)

While the cream is microwaving a second time, measure, cut, and lay out your parchment paper on your baking sheet.

Check that the cream is about body temp. You can do this like baby formula, dripping it onto your wrist to check that it doesn't feel warm or cool. It should also be around the runniness of milk now. (Or you can use a thermometer. It should be about 95 degrees Fahrenheit.)

Mix the cream into the dry ingredients until the dough is uniform. Make sure to scrape the bottom of the bowl and not leave any major flour streaks.

Get that dry 1/3 cup measure, and use it to measure out the dough. (The original recipe says to spray the cup with nonstick spray, but I honestly don't, and don't really have an issue.)

They should be about 2 1/2 inches wide and 1 1/4 inches tall. The recipe makes about 10 biscuits if you pack the cups tightly, and about 12 if you slightly underfill them. I prefer the latter, personally- mostly because 12 is an easier number to split neatly.

Bake for 10-12 minutes. If you used all white flour, then they'll turn golden brown on top. If you used some whole wheat and don't have that indicator, poke them and make sure they're solid.

Wait 2-3 minutes to cool, cut open, eat with jam and/or butter. INDULGE.

Substitution notes:

Changing the flours seems to work well, and given that a lot of gluten is not desirable in this, I suspect a gluten free version would be quite tasty- but maybe not for beginners.

The cream is rather critical to the recipe, and I would not recommend trying a dairy-free version of it if it's your first time and you need them for a dinner party or similar. If you want to experiment, I suspect that full-fat canned coconut milk (NOT coconut cream, that's a much higher fat ratio and will throw off the recipe) would be your best bet. Full-fat canned coconut milk is consistently the best substitute for cream I've found for undairyfying sweet baked goods. Do NOT microwave the can under any circumstances.

Storage notes:

You can store them for a day or two in an airtight container at room temperature. (Well. You can if they last that long.)

If you need them to last longer, put that container in the freezer. You can microwave them from frozen to revive them.

[fox-guardian]

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW I STARTING TO LIKE THE HORSE MORE *exploding with joy*

Waiter! More characters who acting on public and in reality more chill please!! YESS (too much caps im sorry it will happen again)

Hmmmm. To say that The Horse is "acting" on hauls and is "more chill" at home isn't entirely accurate. Or at least is a bit too simplified.

Truly the best way I can describe the divide between Curly The Captain and Curly The Friend And Roommate is Jekyll and Hyde. Not in the vague pop culture sense, but in the actual book sense. Dr. Jekyll creates this formula to do the whole splitting his soul in two thing, separating the "good" from the "evil" when in reality, all he did was create a persona with a new face to hide (hyde) behind while doing nefarious and horrible things. Release your inhibition, feel the rain on your skin etc.

While Anti-Curly didn't make some mad scientist potion, he is trying his damnedest to separate these two aspects of his life, but one isn't strictly an act while the other is his "true" or "better" self.

He plays up the act of The Esteemed Captain in an over-the-top way that he enjoys, wearing it like a mask, but the rest of him is on full display, so to speak. He is under no illusion that he himself is choosing to do the awful things he does, but that's all strictly a problem for Captain Curly, you see. He commits the horrible acts, and he deals with them. And if he experiences no repercussions, then he doesn't Need to deal with them and doesn't bother feeling guilty about them, because if Pony Express doesn't care, then why should he? And then on earth he rests easy knowing that he doesn't even have to THINK about all that stuff because it's all a problem for Captain Curly.

At home, on earth, sure he's emoting more freely, his face no longer forced into a cheery grin at all times, but he's still holding himself back otherwise. He needs to be careful, you see. On earth, he can't get away with the kind of things he can up in space, in his little ship. He has to contain his anger, find better ways to release tension than wringing his roommate's neck every time he pisses him off. There would be too many issues, too many questions. So he keeps that under wraps. And of course never talks about his work at home.

Both are different kinds of restrained in their own ways, neither any more true than the other.

And it's very jarring to see the shift from an outside perspective. Just ask Anti-Jimmy. He would know.

[beryllineart]

Character categorization

Okay, so there’s this thing, I don’t know if it’s a character trope or just something that I do obsessively, but I love things where a character is a fraction of a character (person maybe?). (0/2 is not a character, 4/2 is multiple characters, and there’s a spectrum in between). I’ll make a separate post explaining better what I mean (once I have made art that works to highlight my arguments), but the basic idea behind it is that characters have degrees of humanity and personality and wholeness that can be expressed in fractions.

Silent protagonists tend to be half a character to me, as well as robot characters (of course it depends on how they are written, but evolution from one half of a character to two halves of a character is my favorite thing about robot characters).

I'm really using the word "character" loosely, it's just that sometimes a character who is categorized in the 2/2 area isn't always human and I don't mean literal human but idk, humanity is an important part of characterizing these characters into regions but there are exceptions, especially since "humanity" is something that can have multiple definitions, Death from Discworld is probably the best example of a 2/2 character whose humanity is a bit odd. I swear I will make this easier to understand in the future it makes sense in my head.

The things these characters strive for is integral in categorizing them. Half characters tend to be passive and strive for less, two halves is a “normal” amount of striving, three halves is my favorite because it introduces the most conflict, and I don’t feel like figuring out what a four halves character would strive for (since a 4/2 "character" is usually made up of multiple characters, though it's often still a single unit).

Now, I’m not saying these fractions are about how complete a character is or how well it’s written. It’s more about how much of a unit the given character is… look, I know I’m not explaining this as well as I should, I am a pretty visual thinker and this is just a way for me to categorize characters (especially my OC’s, who always end up being 3/2 characters). I’ll try to make it understandable when I expand on this, but I really wanted to say something because I noticed that the Long Quiet from Slay the Princess is all of these fractions at once and I’m kind of obsessed with symbiosis, parasitism and relationships when it comes to characters. I guess you could say these fractions are a measure of dependence, independence, consciousness and humanity… I don’t know, it makes sense in my head.

Here are some examples of characters and where they fall on the fraction line. (Note, this is not a rating system, I often find 3/2 characters much more interesting than 4/2 characters because the conflicts that happen to 3/2 characters speak to me.)

[pinkfey]

remember how in dao there were always like multiple flirty options u could just spring on ur love interest and it wasn't something that was brushed past it would stop a conversation dead in its tracks to have a cute secondary flirty offshoot with small variations dependent on the flirty option u initially chose with a unique course correction to get back on topic after...... yeah.

[foreverfearlessred]

oohhhh when I tell you I’m about to do something that puts me on the international news. James Vowles shut the fuck up challenge when. I hope your shitty excel spreadsheet gets corrupted x

[mabaris]

alright so now that we’ve gotten some actual crumbs, it feels like it’s a good time to lay out my prediction for what da4 is going to look like. writing this in a letter and mailing it to myself

we are part of an underground organization formed from the ruins of the inquisition to stop solas from ending the world

meanwhile the wardens have been researching the blight/the location of the archdemons and discover some secret about the location of the black city/what is actually contained in it

we’re supposed to be shocked at the reveal that the evanuris are trapped in the black city and the maker doesn’t exist

the ancient elves were in control of some crazy mutating technology (like in hormak) and that was the original source of the darkspawn. the whole thing about them being from the deep roads and a dwarf concern was actually just a red herring, they’re just underground because they’re powered by lyrium and this has ALSO been an elf thing the whole time :)

anyway, now we need to Double Make Sure the veil stays up because the evanuris have something even worse cooking up in the black city and we need to prevent them from unleashing a super blight and destroying all life, and our job is to convince solas to give up, not because we disagree with his plan but because his actions will have unintended consequences. even if he doesn’t care about everyone else and wants to rebuild the world, he won’t even be able to do THAT because the super blight will kill elves too. so although we WERE enemies we will have to band together to defeat the greater threat etc. it will be optional to recruit him as an ally/advisor, or you can just fight him directly and take control of his forces

we will have to cross into the fade AGAIN and storm the black city directly to put a stop to whatever’s going on in there

[termagax]

u know at the beginning i kind of thought kfp4 was gonna do something with shifus whole. deal. but they didnt like at all which is a shame

[3kkh0]

This is why the 6th era (PS2, Xbox, Dreamcast & GameCube) of console graphics are the best. Enough detail to feel real but not so much is gonna nuke someone's computer or console.

And that's not getting into how there was so much of a focus on maintaining a sense of style that has the potential to be timeless over pushing graphic fidelity.

(this isn't to say that modern gaming doesn't push for style at all, it's just not as much of a focus on it as it used to be. There seems to be a growing push for gaming to return to it but it seems slow imo)

this is a controversial opinion and I’m not a gamer but I don’t need my graphics to be that good. I don’t need to see every individual feather on a bird. my poor computer doesn’t deserve to carry that weight either.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Sorry if this seems confrontational, but for the life of me I can’t get into your “Chloe has no growth” point when the show itself retracts growth from everyone and is inconsistent with everyone. You saying “The show just lays down basic character traits in Chloe” doesn’t make sense when her basic character traits are supposed to be her being selfish and spoiled.

S2 built off of that and despite what you say, had Chloe doing things that in S1 she wouldn’t have done. She apologized multiple times to the people she wronged, she willingly put herself in harm’s way to help the people she cares about and she was openly vulnerable to Ladybug in “Malidiktaor”. Something S1 Chloe wouldn’t have done. If there’s a distinct difference between a Chloe back in S1 and a Chloe in S2, then growth HAS taken place. But it doesn’t stay because of the formula (and the writers just don’t want her to keep that growth)

So what I’m asking is…what do you mean “Chloe doesn’t have growth”?

I can understand the “No arc” argument because an unfinished arc feels like there’s no arc at all (even though they are fundamentally not the same)

I wouldn't say that the show retracts growth from everyone. It's more that no one is ever supposed to grow. Every episode resets the cast. That's just how pure formula shows work and Miraculous is being sold as a pure formula show. The characters are meant to be static (one of the writers literally compared Miraculous to Dora the Explorer).

That static nature is why pure formula shows normally avoid giving their good-guy characters major flaws. It's the wrong medium for that type of thing specifically because the characters cannot change in meaningful ways throughout the show. They can learn little lessons that don't really change them and maybe have big change between seasons via a special or movie, but that's about it. Thus things like the season four conflict working so poorly. It's just a terrible choice for a formula show! The conflict is literally not allowed to develop properly because of the chosen format.

But sure, let's talk about Chloe and why I will die on the hill that she never demonstrated meaningful improvement even with the issue of the inconstant writing. In fact, seasons-one-to-three Chloe is one of the most consistent characters in the show. For this discussion to work, we need to start off by discussing character development and the two main forms it can take: character establishment and character growth.

Character Establishment

When the audience meets a character, they know nothing about said character. It's up to the writer to guide the introduction process. To choose when to reveal already existing elements of the character's personality, skills, and backstory. This is called character establishment. It is the writing telling you who the character is on a baseline level. Those reveals don't need to happen at the start of the story, though. They can be - and often are - held back for when the time is right.

When these reveals are delayed, it's important to remember that these elements were always part of the character. The reveal isn't changing who the character actually is. It's just changing how the audience views the character.

For example, we spend a good chunk of season one uncertain why Gabriel is doing what he does. Then, in Origins, we learn that it's all for Emilie. This is new information that adds depth to Gabriel's character, but it doesn't change him in any way. This is who he always was. We just know him better now and can recontextualize past events with our new understanding of his motivation.

Character Growth

Character growth is when writers take a character's personality or world view or even just their skills from point A to point B, allowing the audience to watch the character change and become a new better - or lesser - version of themself. This is usually part of a larger character arc where all the moments of growth add up, but it can take the form of small moments of growth that don't fit into a bigger picture, too. I'd probably still call that an arc, but we'll use the word "growth" a lot in this post, so let's just call it growth to be consistent.

Miraculous doesn't really have either arcs or growth because - once again - formula shows don't allow characters to meaningfully change, so I'm going to have to make up an example here. I'll use one that illustrates how character establishment and character growth can and do intertwine as that's an important thing to acknowledge to help guide this discussion.

Let's say that we have a character who lost their family at a young age. We'll call this character Mary. Mary's loss guides her character throughout the entire story, but the other characters and the audience are never told that this is what's going on. We just know that Mary acts in seemingly illogical ways at times and that she trusts no one.

Throughout the story, Mary learns to trust her costars, leading to a big, dramatic scene where she finally tells them - and the audience - about her past. This big dramatic scene is both the culmination of a character arc and a piece of baseline character establishment that allows us to understand Mary's character better no matter what part of the story we're reading.

Because these combo growth and establishment moments are so common in stories, it can feel like character growth when we learn new things about a character in a dramatic moment, but that's not always what's happening. Sometimes dramatic moments are just there to reveal what was always there by forcing a character to act differently than they usually do through the power of extenuating circumstances. These extenuating-circumstances moments are not character growth because, once the moment is over, the character resets to their normal self. The moment wasn't there to let them grow. It was there for the sake of the plot.

This is actually a really important thing that writers need to know how to do. Figuring out what circumstances will make a character say or do a thing they generally wouldn't say or do is part of how stories work. I have started stories with characters acting wildly "out of character" because I put them in the a situation where the behavior suddenly was in character!

Oh, you don't want to talk to this total stranger because you're an introvert with social anxiety who has yet to learn how to love yourself and open up to others? That's nice. Your leg is broken now and you're stuck in the middle of nowhere. What you gonna do sucker? Lie there in the dirt or talk to the nice lady who wants to help you? Your choice! (Spoiler: he talked to the nice lady. He even let her physically support him when he'd usually never let a stranger touch him!)

As soon as that scene was over, the character reverted because it wasn't growth. He didn't become a more open person. He just did something he normally wouldn't do because the situation demanded it. It was extenuating circumstances so that the freaking plot could start.

This is what happened with Chloe in season two. Everything that people call growth is really just extenuating circumstances that reset by the end of the episode or even by the end of the scene.

Let's Talk About Chloe

Chloe does not have a character arc, aborted or otherwise. She is never taken on a journey where we watch her change. All we get is delayed character establishment via extenuating circumstances, but it's given in ways that make some people feel like she was being given an arc. Let's talk about why that is.

Season one Chloe is a one dimensional mean girl. She has almost no depth. She's just here to be petty and cause akumas. She is not a fully realized character.

Season two takes those traits and keeps them, but also gives Chloe a lot more depth to round her out and make her feel like a real character. She's just as petty and mean as she always was, but we're finally allowed to see her in some moments that make her feel like a well of potential to become something more, which the writers basically had to do if they wanted to let her be a hero. The audience needed to feel like Chloe could be good in the right situation.

The feelings evoked by her newly discovered depth are why people go "oh, she had a character arc! My feelings about her changed in a big way!" But she didn't have an arc. You just got to know her better by seeing her in moments where she was forced to be vulnerable. That's not growth. Growth is meaningful, lasting change, not situational change. Everyone changes based on the situation! It's why the "True Selves" stuff is such nonsense. It implies that there's one set way that we're supposed to act in order to be authentic and anything else is some kind of lie which just isn't how the world works.

Let's look at some examples to drive home what I mean.

Season one established that Chloe idolized Ladybug. It's why we get things like this moment from Evil Illustrator:

Ladybug: Fine! You stay! Later! Cat Noir: What do you mean later? Ladybug: I mean, you're the one who wants to protect her, so you don't need me. So, later! (swings away) Chloé:(looks over balcony) Ahhh! Ladybug! Text me! OK!

And this confession from Antibug:

Ladybug: [Chloe] pretended she was me?! How often does that happen? Armand: She idolizes you.

So Chloe adores Ladybug and wants to impress her/be her best friend. Cool. Got it. That never goes anywhere in season one because season one doesn't see Chloe and Ladybug interact much. The most we get is Ladybug saving Chloe from akumas, which doesn't allow for deep conversations. I don't think that they're ever alone in a moment where they can actually talk.

That changes in season two. In season two, they get to interact a lot and it's often in moments where there's a big threat and no one else is around, letting us see a new side to Chloe. But that's not Chloe changing. It's just the writers revealing that Chloe has more to her than the mean girl stuff because of course she does! Pure mean girls don't exist. Everyone has depth. We simply never saw that depth before because Chloe was never put in a situation where she needed to be open. We can't say that season one Chloe wouldn't confess things to Ladybug or chose to sacrifice herself to let Ladybug win because she never had the chance to do those things!

In fact, I'd go so far as to argue that season one Chloe probably would have done the same things as season two Chloe because season two Chloe doesn't really contradict season one Chloe. Antibug showed us that Chloe was pretty desperate to be loved and welcomed the way that Ladybug is loved and welcomed:

Chloé: Jagged Stone! Jagged: (thinking she's the actual Ladybug) Ladybug! What are you doing here? Chloé: Um… when I find out you were here, I knew you'd wanna see me! I had to come say hello. (Sabrina waves at Jagged)

and Chloe has always been a stubborn girl who stands up for what she wants even if what she wants is something bad. Antibug also showed us that Chloe can be genuinely nice to the people she cares about. Her and Sabrina's relationship is shown to be complex with them often having a lot of fun together.

Similarly, Origins sees Chloe showing her father genuine affection after she's saved from Stoneheart:

[Image description: Chloe and Andre hugging and looking very happy to be together]

Origins is the baseline episode that tells us who the characters are on day one, so I never once doubted that Chloe loved Andre, but Andre didn't get akumatized because of Chloe's actions in season one. He didn't even get akumatized for something that Chloe had nothing to do with! His first akumatization is in season two, so it's not shocking that we don't get a Malidiktaor type scene until Malidiktaor.

Chloe was vulnerable with her personal hero when her beloved parent was in danger, but not before? Shocking! Who would have guessed?

Me. I would have guessed. I didn't even realize that people were reading it as some sort of character growth because it clearly wasn't. Malidiktaor didn't feel like something new for Chloe's character. It just felt like the writers were leaning into things that we'd always known about Chloe and using them to better establish her character as someone who genuinely cares about select people. She just doesn't show most of the time.

The same thing goes for Chloe's sacrifice and apology in Zombizou. Chloe only sacrifices herself when there's no one left but her and Ladybug. When the choice is to let the terrorist win or take the hit and let you personal hero save the day. Brave? Sure, but also not growth. Chloe is team Ladybug for all of seasons one, two, and three! She wants Ladybug to like her! Plus even a petty brat can have moments of goodness where they pick a hero over a literal terrorist.

This honestly would have been a damming moment if Chloe didn't sacrifice herself. She functionally had no other choice here. The entire episode builds itself to the self-sacrifice moment so that Chloe is forced to make that choice even though she's been her petty bratty self throughout the whole attack. It's genuinely solid writing.

Then, in the heightened emotions directly after the Zombizou win, we get this:

Miss Bustier: But I hurt a lot of people... Chloé: No... I did... I forgot your birthday, once again. And when I saw everyone had prepared a gift for you, I totally lost it. Because I, too, would've liked to offer you something. I'm sorry, Miss Bustier. Miss Bustier: Thank you, Chloé. Those words are the best possible gift you could ever give me. (hugs Chloé) (Chloé hugs her back, forgetting herself for a moment.) Chloé: Huh?... Uh, yeah. Okay then, we're all good.

A brief moment of vulnerability that quickly ends and does not stick around because Chloe's change was situational, not true growth. The next scene of that episode starts with Chloe being her usual self:

Chloé: Me? You want me to apologize to the entire class? Ridiculous! They should be thanking me for saving everybody.

And ends with the reveal of Chloe's gift to Miss Bustier, which was given in private via a note.

Once again, nothing new for Chloe's character. She acts as she always has, being mean to everyone while having moments of vulnerability when things get tense. Remember that hug between her and her father that we talked about earlier? Same concept. She had just almost died from an akuma attack and so she needed some emotional support, leading her to act more openly loving than she usually does when he's around. Once the moment is over, she reverts to the petty mean girl default.

Giving gifts to placate people is also something that we've seen before. A pretty similar thing happens at the end of Evil Illustrator, it's just played less sympathetic towards Chloe because the writers weren't giving her depth back then:

Sabrina: Too late. Chloé and I are doing the project together. Marinette: You mean, you're doing the project? Sabrina: Well, of course! After all she's been through... Marinette: Ughhh.... Nice new beret, by the way. Sabrina: I know, right! Chloé lent it to me. She really is my BFF! Chloé! Your geography homework's ready!

For any of this to be character growth, we need to see Chloe act differently over time. For her to be put in similar situations and get different outcomes, but we don't see that in part because Chloe didn't change and in part because season one didn't do much to develop Chloe's deeper side. We rarely see her alone or in moments of extreme vulnerability, but you need those moments to show her depth. That's why Despair Bear had Chloe crying alone after Adrien threatened to end her friendship and not before. Chloe is very reluctant to openly show depth. You have to force it out of her, which perfectly fits the character we met in season one.

Even her standing up to Hawkmoth and rejecting the akuma isn't character growth in my opinion. Chloe has always stood up to authority and demanded whatever she wants. She has wanted to be Ladybug's friend and be seen as a hero since season one, so it's not shocking that her extremely strong will would allow her to defy a terrorist. If there is anyone in this show who can stand up to a terrorist on shear "no!" power alone, it's little miss I-always-get-what-I-want. I could see a variation of this happening at any point in the show, just change Chloe's reason for defying Gabriel to match the situation. Rework these lines to be about a party that she wanted to go to and I'd still totally buy it:

Chloé: No, Hawk Moth! I am a superheroine! I am Queen Bee! Ladybug will come and get me when she needs me! I WILL NEVER JOIN YOU! (throws her photo onto the ground as the akuma exits it... and pants)

Chloe acted like a hero here because she wants all the perks of being a hero and can't believe that Ladybug would actually bench her. That's impossible! Ladybug wouldn't do that!

As soon as Chloe accepts that she won't be a hero again, Chloe stops acting heroic because acting heroic wasn't growth. It was her playing a part the same way she played a part in Despair Bear. She was doing what she needed to do to be Queen Bee again and not because it's the right thing to do. This would only be real growth if she rejected the akuma after accepting that she wouldn't be Queen Bee again, but that's not what happens. As soon as she accepts that she's out, she no longer has any reason to play nice. She never grew into a character who did what's right for the sake of doing the right thing. It's always been about getting what she wants or being seen how she wants to be seen. Until that changes, she hasn't changed.

So no, Chloe didn't have an aborted arc. They didn't start to redeem her and then change their minds. All they did was make Chloe one of the most complex characters in the show only to then not do anything with the character they wasted our time establishing, ignoring the complexity they gave her while also cranking her mean dial up to the point of absurdity where she's not even fun in her original role anymore.

I get why it feels like she had an aborted arc. The fact that the character establishment was delayed makes it feel like something shiny and new about Chloe. There's also the fact that the character establishment we get in season two is the kind of character establishment that you'd do if you were setting up for a redemption arc, but that doesn't change the fact that it was all establishment work. None of it was a true arc where we watched Chloe grow. We just saw her put in situations that revealed hidden depths.

Her showing depth is not her growing because when in the world does she show off this supposed growth? She only acts differently in the type of scenes that we've never seen her in before or around characters that we've never seen her truly interact with before. When she's around the established teen characters or in her usual scenes, then she acts the same way that she always has. We never see her be genuinely nice to Marinette or something like that. She's only nice to Ladybug and she's still rude to Chat Noir. That's not character growth! That's character establishment that can then be used to guide character growth!

Same thing goes for the stuff in Despair Bear. We learn that Adrien can push Chloe to be better, but he never does it again and she reverts as soon as he lets her off the hook, so it wasn't character growth! It was just Chloe establishing that she can play nice when she needs to. This means that she could grow if the story chose to take her down that path because we've established that she knows what being nice looks like. Fake it til you make it plot go, go, go! But the plot never went, went, went so meh?

Add in the fact that season one was a bit of a test season with lots of elements that got dropped and the fact that characterization in this show has always been wildly inconsistent from episode to episode and I'm really not seeing a strong argument for Chloe having an intentional arc that somehow got aborted. People just saw the potential for her to have one and argue that potential is the same as an aborted arc when it really, really isn't.

To give an analogy, Chloe's story is like walking into the kitchen and seeing grandma laying out the ingredients for her famous chocolate chip cookies. We get excited because, hey, cookies! Then we come back an hour later and there are no cookies. Nor is there some other sweet that uses the same ingredients. There's just ingredients, sitting unused in their original packaging, making us wonder what the heck grandma was up to. At the same time, she never really started making cookies. She just set out ingredients. They're still there, totally unused, waiting to be made into something, so we can't call them a failed cookie attempt. That implies a level of commitment that was never there. She didn't even say that she was making cookies! We just assumed she was because we, understandably, wanted cookies and wanted to believe that grandma had a purpose to her actions.

[galemilker]

how much fun am i having with LaDs? I just spend 4+ hours making Excel spreadsheets to track event rewards , card ascention resource calculations and about to spend some more to make a filterable table for the cards i have and planner for card upgrades