#BACK UP YOUR DATA LADS

[rouge-the-bat]

[steampoweredskeleton]

Just got an undeserved email bollocking from work

For some reason I was the only person on the data team included in the bollocking even though WE ALL MISSED THE SAME THING. FOR THE SAME REASON

I am getting better at owning mistakes when I make them. And this was NOT one of them. I literally saw the data missing and CHECKED LAST YEAR and saw it wasn't asked. The fact that they did a side project I knew nothing about that collected that data, and then failed to inform us, is not on me!

Really disappointed my arse, I'm really disappointed that this entire project has been a mess bc you can't get the client to follow through and are constantly missing deadlines

[zhongrin]

spending your weekend with...

© zhongrin | 2024 ✼  [✘] no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. [✓] rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, jing yuan, blade

✼ tags ┈ fluff, established relationship, more fluff, your honor they’re all so whipped it’s cringe /silly

✼ a/n ┈ she lives!!! and oop, off she goes back into hermit mode after posting-

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

... the husband of all husbands, zhongli ー your feet walking along the familiar path of nature's trails and having picnics between the green-yellow grass of liyue’s vast fields. pretend you don't see a familiar shade of seafoam-tinged feathers flying past into the dense leaves of the trees adjacent to the one you take refuge under. maybe one of these days, the yaksha will finally accept your invitation to have a family dinner in your abode.

delving into the harbor's market, buying groceries and getting sidetracked by knickknacks. too many times, you've let the mora in your pouches pass across the merchant's for yet another antique teapot or an accessory you can never seem to have enough of. perhaps a dragon's hoarding nature is contagious to its partner? either way, you never fail to finish up at night with tea served in delicate glazed earthenware, brewed by your husband's expert hands. and if those same hands decide to spoil you further as you both cuddle in your nest-bed, even better, no?

... your al haitham, who, on rare occasions, would have a junior akademiya scholar approach him while you were out, in hope to acquaint themselves with the former acting grand sage. he's always quick to shut them down, the bluntness of his words deterring the situation to progress further. you think you see him smirk when the poor lad scurries away, but as he returns towards your side, his hand finds home around yours and all is forgotten.

a café isn't exactly a place he would choose to frequent on a crowded weekend. but the coffee's good, and you seem content as you chatter across the table. while it's scientifically impossible and irrational, there's just something in your voice that seems to create a vacuum bubble that allows him to focus on your endearing rambles. he listens, and he thinks he should record you talking, just so he can play them in his soundproofing headphones whenever.

... the one and only duke in fontaine, wriothesley, who follows you around like a loyal guard dog. it's probably thanks to you that he's not growing shrooms on his fur jacket from all the time he spent down in the damp fortress underwater. you take him shopping, persuade him to try out coffee, sample some foods that isn’t wolsey’s cooking… and if you so happen to bump into your friends, you're both usually always more than happy to adjust your schedule ー a sudden tabletop game session with clorinde and forcing persuading neuvillette to perform dereliction of his duties for a moment to relax are a few examples.

but above all, his favorite has to be bringing some snacks to sit down under a tree with you, watching fontainian poodles frolic around the dog park. maybe one day you'll have a puppy of your own, but for now, your beloved is ‘content with just you’, he says with a cheeky grin.

... your dozing general-arbiter whose brain seems to only want sleep and cuddles whenever the week starts to wind down. waking up to jing yuan who’s akin to a very sleepy big cat draped over your body using you as a pillow is how you would always start your weekend, and it's only at these peaceful moments that the man turns into a heavy sleeper. had he been a real lion, you think he might be purring up a storm as he snoozes, pillowed shamelessly against your chest.

your lover prefers a slow, lazy day with you whenever he has the rare time to take himself out of his duties, and naturally his free weekends are included in this. maybe start with a morning cuddle (in bed), a nap (in bed), both of you cooking lunch (in the kitchen), another nap (maybe on the recliner sofa because why not), a leisure night walk around aurum alley, and a night cuddle (yes. again. in bed)? hmm. yes, that sounds perfect.

... blade, who doesn't exactly have 'weekends', per se. chances are, he doesn't even know what day today is. plus, there's no guarantee that you were with him if he's away on a mission, anyway. but when you were around? you have his full (nonverbal) permission to drag him wherever and to do whatever you want.

you want to travel to the nearest planet for a bottle of soulglad when everyone else is asleep? pick a ship, he'll steer. you want to have a spa day and pamper yourselves senseless, braid his hair while you both have an overpriced face masks on? a useless act for him, especially considering his circumstances, but he'll massage your head if you give him enough puppy eyes. you just want to rot in bed and contemplate your existence? as long as you let him lay his head on your chest so he can hear your heartbeat, he’s good. either this man does not realize how much you have him wrapped around your finger, or he just does not care. it’s probably the latter.

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈

@abyssmal-skies ! @hamdehlesmis ! @sunnshineflxwer ! @queen-belial ! @silentmoths

@dustofthedailylife ! @marina-and-the-memes ! @mixed-kester ! @lordbugs ! @anonymousficreader

@irethepotato ! @sassy-cat-in-town ! @syrenkitsune ! @smokipoki ! @cakeboxie

@crystalflygeo ! @ciexuvia ! @illaasya ! @celestewritestoomuch ! @pams-comfortzone

@spidermanluvr444 ! @ourstrawberryclouds ! @ryuryuryuyurboat ! @hrts4hanniehae ! @fiannee

@frosts-intuition ! @florapocalypses ! @genshin-impacts-me ! @scarasmood ! @hellcatinnc

@beloved-brynn ! @malachitemischief101 ! @average-yandere-enjoyer ! @euniveve ! @centralballad

[musicallisto]

· · · · ♡ IF (SAINZ WIN == TRUE) (cs55)

… starring carlos sainz x f!engineer!reader ... 4.4k words ... in which carlos is an effusive, self-assured lad to every member of his team... except ferrari's head software engineer, making her wonder if he secretly hates her guts. ... based on this request ... warnings for language (minor) ... my first ever (posted) fic for carlos aaaaa (i have written A Lot More about this man because he occupies my every waking hour, but i shan't share it yet). in honor of me missing my communication networks final last week i made the reader a software engineer, but you would Never catch me willingly coding anything in c++ outside of my mandated assignments. no not even for carlos sainz jr. i have morals. this is open for part 2 if you guys enjoy it <3

He speaks the language of princes.

It's not in anything he says, no, he's much too industrious to waste time boasting, but rather in all that he doesn't. Carlos walks into the Ferrari motorhome, with that good-natured smile and that slightly disheveled hair from the morning's cycling session, and heads bow. Not out of plight, or even obligation, but mostly because it's hard not to. His warm greetings to everyone—Ciao's and even Come stai?'s to his team members strolling down the hallways before the weekend—, his keen interest in remembering little things about engineers' and photographers' lives, his nonchalant stride around the parc fermé all force camaraderie at least; reverence to most.

Wherever the red car goes, Maranello or any other corner of the world, religion follows, and though Carlos Sainz has never quite fit into the nooks they keep for their idols—their walls are carved for Monégasque shoulders—, he's at least always carried the air of a rebel leader on unforgving land.

But if Carlos is Ferrari's bastard prince, then clearly you are a subject he would not go to war for.

Or so he makes you think, once again, on that hot Singaporean afternoon.

You hadn't meant to interrupt, really, but with only one hour to go before FP1, you needed to talk to Riccardo Adami; something about the software updates, optimization of the data acquisition systems to account for Marina Bay's sweltering heat—run for half a second too long, overheat half a degree too much, and everyone's calculations would be going to hell. So of course you'd corrected it, supervised a brand new version of your code for the weekend, for that tenth of a Celsius; competition drove you. Almost just as much as those solar eyes boring into you when you walk into the room.

"Riccardo, about the softw—oh. Carlos. Hi," you timidly trail off when Carlos' eyes meet yours.

The room gets quiet, and it is only then that you notice how much space his laugh takes. Usually, you would've recognized the accent from outside the door, the boisterous voice regaling the Fifty-fives with another funny story—how could you not, when it sends shockwaves down your stomach? He seems to have been in an animated conversation with his race engineer, but as you get closer to the two men you notice the crinkles lengthening Carlos' eyes are fading with his smile. You aren't sure he's even said hi back.

"We've changed the code for acquisition, but some loops could still cause problems with overheating, particularly the engine oil temperature sensors…" you explain, though half your attention is directed to your peripheral vision, in which Carlos sways on his two feet, averting your gaze at all costs.

But you're not a college girl with a crush, you're Scuderia Ferrari's head software engineer and so you go on with your precisions to Riccardo. What to expect during free practice, how to overshoot any nonessential sensors that might fuck up the data analysis... until, mid-sentence, Carlos excuses himself awkwardly, pats Ricky on the shoulder, and walks out of the room.

You will your face into not betraying the sudden ache in your throat. How he simply acted like you weren't there... didn't even inquire about the updates. About the race. About your flight, about how much you loved Singapore's twinkling lights, about... you.

"Xavi and Charles know this already, but we really gotta test it all now before it gets cooler for FP2," you conclude with a too-hard swallow. Back firmly turned to the door Carlos just disappeared out of.

Riccardo thanks you, offers his own insight, some banalities about the risks of rain—no, you shouldn't consider them banalities. Nothing, on a Friday, is a banality anymore; yet everything is when you remember how Carlos' entire face shuts close when you're around, how his tone quietens down, how he repeatedly and stubbornly conceals all his rays of brazenness from you.

Does he hate you? Despise you? Are you not worth his effrontery?

This is ridiculous. You're not a college girl with a crush, you're a damn senior member of the team with responsibilities and he doesn't owe you anything more or less than you him—

"Riccardo," you neither ask nor plead. "Has Carlos... said anything about me?"

"About you? Like what?"

"I don't know... but you did see he just... left while I was in the middle of talking, right? And he looked annoyed as soon as I came in." And for all that's holy, try to pass this off as mere politeness and not a heartache that is eating you alive.

"Maybe he was just bored."

"So I'm boring?"

"No," Riccardo wheezes, in uncharacteristically high spirits for the conversation. "But I've worked with a ton of drivers, and you know, they're all the same. Less time discussing boring analytics is more time they spend in the sim. Or on track. What, you think he's angry at you or something?"

"I just... don't get why he's always so guarded and distant with me but so outgoing and confident with you guys. Charles isn't like that either. It makes no sense. We're a team, all of us."

The Italian looks at you for long seconds, amusement noticeable on his features, and you would shake him up and tell him to stop giving you those pity eyes if you lacked the tiniest bit of respect for the man; instead, you frown and cross your arms.

"He'll be in a good mood tonight when we top free practice," Riccardo assures you before you can ask him if he needs anything else. "and even better tomorrow after getting pole. You can talk to him then if you want."

A smile creeps its way on your lips without you conjuring it. There it is, that loyal veneration that only men and women of the Scuderia possess. Something in those southern eyes Carlos shares with legend has made you religious, too.

"I'll hold you to that... we could all use a Singapore miracle."

Singapore is a miracle.

Surely any other team would scoff at the word, bragging that a pole position has nothing to do with miracles, that it's all meticulous teamwork and endless iterations on calculators, but Ferrari is deeply supersitious at its core. You—the centenarian team, its red-hot beating heart—don't shy away from thanking divine intervention. Maybe that's the reason why it still works.

After Carlos' last pole in Monza, the whole Scuderia had dared to dream of something different, a glimmer of scarlet in the season's overwhelming orange. Of course, an uncatchable Max had put a dampen on the fervent Tifosi's mood, but the formidable hope machine had revved back to life...

and now it's roaring in Marina Bay.

Leclerc's side of the garage claps for a hard-earned P3, but it's the Spaniard's team that erupts into cheers and rushes out into the pitlane to congratulate their hero. You stare at his lap time on your monitor with a grin—1:30.984, not even a tenth faster than his teammate—as cheerful screams, in Italian and Spanish, fill the garage; they get louder when Carlos walks back inside, grinning ear to ear and not even bothering to dodge the strong-arm pats on his head and back.

"Twice in a row, cazzo!"

"And this time you won't have Verstappen underfoot!"

"Perfect lap, Carlos, that was a perfect lap..."

"Grazie a tutti," Carlos beams, fire suit down to his waist, running clammy hands through his hair—he parts the red sea as he walks deeper into the garage, close to where you are. "I think we all did a very good job today, and now we gotta finish the job tomorrow..."

He laughs with the mechanics, a sun of fire and victory casting its rays onto the tarmac, and maybe it's the euphoria of the moment, but a sudden wind of courage rushes through your blood, and you walk up to him.

"Bravo, Carlos."

Your voice hits him like the purr of an engine in the ruckus, overshadowing any other sound; he whips his head in your direction, shiny eyes colliding with yours, and for the first time you don't back off but hold them in awe, and his smile doesn't fade, but rather shifts. To surprise, or... coyness?

"You were incredible out there, we're all so so proud of you," you praise, and the more you look at him the wider your smile grows, and the quieter the rest of the world gets.

"Thank you, Y/N," he rubs the back of his neck, his free hand fiddling with the hanging sleeves of his fire suit. "We... I couldn't have done this without you. Because, you know, the overheating, or what you were saying to Ricky before? I didn't understand everything, but at least I didn't cook to death."

Coyness? In Carlos Sainz? When he's still sweaty and panting from qualifying first? What a bizarre sight, one that makes you giggle.

The way your nose scrunches up beneath sparkling eyes is so endearing, Carlos almost feels his breath hitch in his throat, almost reaches out to lightly brush your arm, hold the steady coolness of it.

"Great, that was what we were going for, pretty much," you reply, and for a second you could've sworn he wanted to touch your arm and changed his mind, but...

you bury the idea before a craving for his warmth can nestle in your chest.

"Great," he repeats. "So, I'll... see you later," and with that he leaves you there, stranded in the middle of the garage, to be lauded by the press and fans.

You'd be lying if you said his shadow disappearing out the backdoor as quickly as it had come doesn't slice a gash in your heart—always whisked away to some important obligation, and you, like everyone else, duty-bound to pick up the pieces behind him. But this time around the cut doesn't run as deep, doesn't bleed as red; because for the first time in months Carlos talked to you, joked with you, and looked the tiniest bit glad to be doing so.

If that's how good of a mood a pole puts him in... then clearly you'd better make damn sure he wins this race.

Ferrari is deeply superstitious at its core. Maybe that much is true in any sport—when victory eludes you, athletes find obscure laws to trick themselves into believing they still retain control—, but a team so old, on which glory has rained so often, does not withstand the passage of time without a few pillars of faith. And so it makes sense that Ferrari drivers, of all people, would have their pre-race traditions.

Leclerc plays the piano on Saturday nights; you hear him every time you pass by the team hotel's lounge, his melancholy tracks grounding you in a precise time and place. Now the car is out of bounds, the comfort of your object-oriented programming and optimized lines of code off-limits; now's the time for withdrawal and rest.

Typically, you like to hang out in the lounge while Charles plays, trying to distract yourself with a book or simply basking in the music. The predictable, calculated flow of Charles' arpeggios soothes you, like lines of code running one after the other. So does the Monégasque driver's easy conversation. Although it doesn't shoot butterflies in your belly like Carlos' does... but you're not supposed to play favorites.

This Grand Prix eve is just like any other, save for the unordinary trepidation that carpets the hotel. With one of their own sitting on pole, it's obvious strategists struggle more than usual to drop the words "tire management" and "pit stops". Eager to escape the nervousness, you excuse yourself from the dinner table, and make your way to the lounge.

Charles is already there, if the usual pieces echoing in the distance at dessert are any indication, and you barely even get lost in the elegant halls before you find the lounge... though there is no piano to be heard. Maybe this hotel has two music rooms—maybe Charles went to bed early—or maybe...

maybe he's sitting on the piano stool and chatting with Carlos, wet and sleepy from his evening shower.

Neither driver notices you at first, and you stop dead in your tracks, wondering if you should just leave. You wouldn't want to intrude—intrude on what, the rational part of your brain says, but with Carlos I always feel like I'm intruding on something bigger than myself, the rest of your body answers—, but you really enjoy this unspoken tradition with Charles... and, well, this is everybody's lounge, and...

"Y/N," Charles sees you eventually and beckons you over. "Sorry, I don't think there'll be a lot of music tonight, Carlos is distracting me."

"You could kick me out anytime," Carlos remarks good-naturedly, but you don't miss how he angles his body away from you ever so slightly. The sight sends a dagger through your heart. So he actually hates you then. So you didn't breach any barrier earlier at the circuit, didn't melt any ice. So he didn't look pleased and a little excited to be talking to you.

"That's okay, I'll just head to bed then—"

"Oh no no no," Charles interrupts, "come sit with us. I was trying to convince Carlos to give the piano a go, maybe you'll be more successful than me."

"Absolutely not, mate."

"Come on Carlos, it will relax you!"

"No, you're the musician, not me. One of us has to be the sportsman, no?"

Unsure, you flick between the two men, Charles' inviting face and Carlos, who's still doing everything he can to avoid looking at you in the eye. And then you decide—fuck it. You're just as much a member of the team as he is. He cannot drive you away with his... stupid cold shoulder tactics any longer.

You take a seat on the sofa opposite Carlos, and watch in half delight, half annoyance as he turns his shoulders away from you. Though his body language appears relaxed, one leg strewn across his knee and elbows hugging the backrest, he is, as usual, going to hell and beyond to not acknowledge your presence.

Charles has the merit of lightening the mood with his jokes and fan encounters of the day: some bizarre, some endearing, because he seemingly never has a boring day in the paddock. His easy laughter mixes with the distant voices down the halls when your attention drops—too fast, too soon, as always, it's irremediable—to Carlos, the soothing scent of his shampoo and the little droplets that run down his temple whenever he shakes his head in amusement... before you know it, you're staring again, eyes shining with undisclosed heartache. Something Charles sees, and recognizes very well, with a jot of curiosity.

Charles may not be the most perceptive when it comes to these things, but he is in love too, and he'd know the signs anywhere. That's why after a little while he lets silence blow his last words away like wind does the mist, and stands up from the piano stool.

"Well, I'm going to bed," he announces with an air of conniving finality, and he smiles his crooked smile at Carlos. "Gonna need all my energy to take the lead in turn 1."

This snaps you out of your reverie. Half-gone, you bid him goodnight at the same time as the Spaniard does, and you brace yourself for his own excuse... but it doesn't come. Carlos lazily watches as Charles leaves the lounge. You don't dare to move, as if your slightest sound could remind him you're there and trigger his fight.

You would've thought a tête-à-tête with you to be Carlos' worst nightmare... but he makes no sign of leaving. And sends solar flares up your chest and throat. "Whatever problem he's got with me, he'll have it sort it out with me like an adult" sounds much more intimidating when it's so plausible.

"You think he has the slightest chance of overtaking me in turn 1?" Carlos chuckles.

You look him straight in the eye and read no resentment, not even that sheepishness from before—just relaxed delight, and the slightest hint of reddened cheeks against tan, damp skin. It takes you a second, maybe even two, to realize there's no one else in the room. He's talking to you. Joking with you.

Why is the script running without error all of a sudden, even though you changed no variables?

"Maybe," you give a noncommittal shrug and a smile. "Why not? It all depends on you."

"He can lead the first lap if he wants. That will just make it more fun to cross the finish line ahead of him after."

"You better win this one, Sainz, because I..." you start, and midway through your sentence are hit by how absolutely ridiculous you're about to sound, but he's leaned in already, intrigued by your words, and his burning gaze and strong hands fiddling in his lap have you losing all notions of propriety. "I've... coded a little something for you. If you win. A surprise. It's not much, but... yeah."

Your whole face burns deep scarlet as you trail off... and the light in Carlos' eyes darkens, then goes out completely. His smile fades back to the usual professional grimace he reserves for you. Distant. Cold. He rises to his feet.

"I should get some sleep."

Terror strikes you. Incomprehension too.

"No, Carlos, wait."

He turns his head to your outstretched hand... your pleading eyes almost rip through his heart.

"Why do you dislike me so much?"

And then his shoulders slump, like crushed by an immense weariness, and he sighs, long and hard, before his gaze falls back to yours. Those big brown eyes, gentle, compassionate, and those fingers tapping against his thigh like they're waiting for an invisible cue to reach out for yours.

"... Can we talk about this after the race?" he says, shooting daggers through your stomach.

So he didn't deny it. Didn't reassure you, tell you it's all a misunderstanding, that he bears no ill will towards you, that you're imagining things as usual and that you two could be on the best of terms if you just got out of your head a little bit.

One more time, he's running away. Sweeping everything under the rug, for just one more session, one more race, hiding behind the excuse of concentration and professionalism.

But who are you to revoke him that? It's a damn good excuse. You need to win. He needs to win. Not be bothered about... interpersonal relationships while clipping walls.

"... Alright," you concede, voice and bones all broken, glistening under your frozen skin. "But if it's something I've done, then I'm sorry. I really do... enjoy your company. And you."

"It's not something you've done," he speaks quietly. Gosh, your frailty in this moment—you, so proud and unshakable on the pit wall, so dedicated and thorough on TV, so immeasurably devoted to Ferrari, to Charles, to him... "Or, well, I guess not directly..."

If he looks into your confused, imploring eyes one more second, almost brushes your arm with his one more time, then he's done for. But he thinks he knows this already.

"I don't dislike you," he starts speaking and as soon as he opens his mouth he knows there's no stopping himself now, so he blurts it all out as quickly as he can to get it over with and hopefully bury some meaning in the pits of his accent. "Not at all. In fact I really like you. I think you're gorgeous, and smart, and clever, and fun, and every day I wish I could spend more time with you outside of races and get to know you better but then I remember that can never happen and it's so frustrating and I have the hardest time concentrating. So I just avoid you. It's easier."

Silence thick as a thundercloud tethers you to one another. He runs a hand over his face, sighing deep, and you blink. Once, twice.

You've always prided yourself on your brains—not everyone gets to be in charge of all the computing for a Formula 1 car—but right now, you are all utterly lost.

"Carlos, I... I don't get it." Or maybe you do, heart thumping in your ears, but you're too scared you might be wrong.

"In any other life I would've asked you out on a date." This time he speaks more slowly, more purposefully, too. Like he's imbuing every syllable with the depth of his confession. "But it kills me that it can't be this one."

"... Why not?" you tentatively ask after an instant, feigning not to notice how his hand is now resting on the back of your sofa, right next to your ear and neck.

"Because you're a senior engineer! That would be like... like dating Ricky. Even if you're much prettier than Ricky. But you don't need to tell him that," he adds with a nervous laugh, which you mirror; though you fall silent as soon as his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, right where your collar ends, millimeters away from your skin. His body's warring with his own words... one wants to resist, the other to give in. "What if I leave Ferrari? That's a crazy conflict of interest."

"That's a silly idea, you're not leaving Ferrari anytime soon. Are you?"

"I don't know, it's... hypothetically... you know what I mean," he exhales in defeat. His hand clasps a little tighter on your shoulder, his scent dizzying, closer than ever before. Can he feel your frantic heart thumping underneath your skin? If he keeps licking his lips like this, will he sense your breathing getting more erratic?

"I do. But... the problem is I like you too, Carlos."

If embers could burn back to life, light a hearth out of nothingness... they wouldn't shine as bright as Carlos' eyes just then.

"Don't mess with me."

"I'm not messing with you. Why wouldn't I like you?"

"Because you're not supposed to have a favorite."

"I won't tell Fred if you don't."

He laughs, a brittle but adorable little thing, like a small bird taking its first flight. If you could hear the sound more often, see that bashful smile on his handsome face more every day... you wouldn't need any other prince to die in war for.

His hand runs down your arm, his thumb lightly caressing your skin through the fabric of your shirt before he grabs your shaky hand in his.

"Now's not the best time, but... I think we've got to have an important conversation after the race tomorrow," his deep, soft tone pacifying you just as much as the abstract shapes he traces on the back of your hand.

"After you win, you mean."

"Right. After I get my surprise, no?"

"After you win," you repeat with a grin, and he squeezes your hand, smiling too. Something, deep down, tells him he'll win regardless of the race result.

"Cosa diavolo sta facendo?"

Even in spite of the roaring crowd and the bellowing V8s speeding down the straight, the dumbfounded voices around the pit wall come to you clear as day.

"Russell 1.4 behind Lando," Ricky, sitting on the other side of Vasseur, speaks into his headset.

The team principal keeps quiet, eyes fixed on the cascade of numbers and brackets on your screen. He understands before the rest of the wall what his driver is doing; and as you relay all the information you get to the race engineers, you understand it too.

"Lando .8 behind, .8 behind with DRS—Russell no DRS... Copy that."

He's doing it on purpose. Keeping Norris just close enough to shield him from the Mercs while making sure he can't catch up. You'd laugh in triumph and disbelief if you weren't gritting your teeth so damn hard, heart on the verge of exploding as the last laps tick out in a blur.

Just a few more minutes. Just a few more seconds, and the night sky over Marina Bay will explode in crimson lights...

Mechanics spring to their feet and climb the wall to the track, bumping their fists in the air. Cheers, claps, exclamations, a bouquet of red roses swaying in the wind to greet its champion at the finish line. And then, the unmistakable roar of a racecar speeding past the chequered flag at three hundred kilometers an hour. Liberation.

You spring to your feet right as the fireworks go off, yelling to the sky. Carlos won. Carlos won! Your Carlos—in the middle of Red Bull's flawless season...

"¡Vamos Fred! ¡Vamos Ricky!" Flashes of red and gold pass his high spirits by, diligently braking into the first corner.

He laughs, he screams it all out, unclenching all his muscles, woozy from the G's, from the adrenaline, from the win... from you, watching him from the pit wall. From the memory of your skin against his, your adoring eyes and the formidable lightness inside his chest that has him feeling like he's the king of the world.

In a few minutes, he'll be posing with his trophy and the team in front of his P1 plaque for the group photo, and he'll drench you in champagne—your lively laughter will fill his heart with the gold of medals. And later in the evening, before the afterparty, he'll pull you aside and tell you maybe this victory has made him reckless, and he'll kiss you senselessly like a prize he fought for.

For now, though, he's nodding his head at Lando who gave him a congratulatory wave from his car when his on-board screen lights up with an unexpected message. Glowing red letters read, "Great job, smooth operator! 🌶️" Laughter escapes him as small virtual fireworks go off on his screen... and he presses the radio button on his steering wheel.

"Did she have one of these ready for Charles too?"

A few seconds of white noise, and then, your mischievous voice, dripping with joy.

"You know me, Carlos. Never play favorites."

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[amazinglyashy]

hi! i was wondering if i can request lads boys comforting their s/o bc their cat has passed. my baby passed today and i’m grieving really hard. thank you and have an amazing day🫶🏻

Moving this one up immediately in my box just to express my condolences. Your baby was very loved, I'm sure, and I hope you get through this tough time with care <3 I'm sorry for your loss. It's a tough time, regardless of who you're losing. My partner's grandpa passed a couple years back and I remember us crying, laughing and bowling, crying again, and talking a lot. Heck, I went to a craft store right after I heard the news and wandered around for two hours without any goal. I think I bought lolipop sticks. Take care love <3 You'll get through this. I know it's hard.

LaDS men when your pet cat has passed away

Xavier -

Since he lives so close by, your baby was his baby too, so he's devastated. Not equally so, he knows you spent more time with them, and you had them long before you had met him, but still- the pain exists.

The both of you are a bundle of blankets for a long while, just lying in the comfort and going through the both of your phones as you look for every single photo or video that has your cat in it, even just a little bit.

Lots of tears, but lots of laughs as well.

Everything is clear and apparent with every single memory the two of you go through- every little quirk your cat had, every little habit they had-

You both have a really nice time just talking about your cat, and any of the goofy mischief they used to get up to.

Of course you cry, and of course Xavier holds you through it. He knows how hard this is for you, and he knows it'll pass.

But until then, he's got you.

He's always got you.

Zayne -

He may be pragmatic to an extreme sometimes, but when it comes to grieving, he knows how hard it can be on the human psychic.

Not to mention on someone like you, who's already been through enough.

He'll definitely ask you if you want a hug, and if the answer is yes, he'll hold you, squeezing you so snugly and for so long that surely his muscle memory doesn't know a different position anymore.

Warm tea or cocoa, his old cardigan on your shoulders, pillows and blankets surrounding you on the couch, and just…

A lot of care.

If you ask him for any opinions or advice, he probably won't be able to give it to you. He doesn't want to risk anything coming out abrasive when you're still so tender, so he'll settle for condolences and anything comforting he can think of.

"I know it hurts. And you can try as you might, but the hole they left won't ever manage to be blocked out. All you can do is keep going, and hold their memory close."

Sylus -

Deep breath, it's going to be alright.

Loss is definitely something he's familiar with- and it's partially why he doesn't have anyone of his own. Mephisto may have a personality, but he's also mechanical. There's no way for him to disappear, because every bit of data in him gets saved, just in case.

But there's also no way your cat will disappear either, because Sylus has saved every memory of her, to make sure you will always have something should this day arrived.

He just didn't expect it to come so soon.

Doesn't matter what job he has, it's left to Luke and Kieran. He's by your side to care for you in whatever capacity you may need. He takes a lot of initiative, but he also asks you a lot of questions too. He doesn't want to risk making you uncomfortable, and he knows you're extra tender right now.

A lot of physical affection if that's what you need, and a lot of ideas to help you through it- whether he takes you out somewhere to help distract you from the pain, or goes through old memories with you to help you grieve through it, he'll do anything.

For as long as you may need.

Rafayel -

He hated cats.

Except for this one.

That was partially your fault, but also partially the darned cat's fault for being such a love.

He's devastated, both for you, and for himself.

He'll hug you- kiss you. Anything he can think of that usually cheers you up, even though he knows there's really nothing that's going to help right now.

He's been there, he's experienced loss. He knows what you're going through, and unfortunately- he knows that also means there's not really any helping it.

Someday when you're ready- could be in a month, could be three years from now, it doesn't matter at all him- he'll make you probably one of the favorite gifts you'll ever receive from him.

It's a portrait of your past baby, flowing full of life and color with eyes that sparkle almost as well as theirs did back when they were still around.

Almost.

And sometimes, 'almost' is more than enough to help ease the pain.

[snek-of-eden]

How TOS characters would react if you asked them for a hug (platonic)

this is based on that time i asked all of my teachers and basically everyone who i knew for a hug and compiled all the data into a best hugger spreadsheet. yea i’m neurodivergent and touchstarved why do you ask

“can i have a hug please?”

Kirk:

he would definitely ask you if you were okay

If he knows you he gives amazing hugs, absolutely fantastic. If he doesn’t really know you, you might get a quick, well-meaning one-arm hug

“sure thing, come here <3”

chub is good for cuddles

it’s kinda intimidating to ask for hugs from him, especially when he’s on shift

you feel a bit honoured that he actually said yes to your request

he always does a quick little squeeze at the end before he lets go

his hugs aren’t super tight though

the kind of hug that makes you both smile

wouldn’t rank super high on a “best hugger” list but that’s not his fault, he’s trying to run a ship here and he can’t get too attached to people

you probably wouldn’t get a repeat hug unless you really needed one or you knew him well

he smells like shampoo!

Spock:

he’d definitely raise an eyebrow

it looks like he’s considering saying no but on reality he’d never refuse unless the circumstances were dire

“of course, officer. is something wrong?”

he’s not an enthusiastic hugger but he’s really really good at long hugs

like not-letting-go-until-your-heart-rate-is-steady kind of long hugs

not super tight, not super loose. very medium strength hugs

he would clasp his hands together behind your back so he doesn’t have to touch your skin with his fingertips

if it’s a calm hug he might continue talking about ship duties while he holds you

if you’re freaking out he’s quiet enough that you can hear his heartbeat, which is surprisingly calming

he smells like lavender

he’ll hold on until you’re ready to let go

when you do let go, neither of you will talk about it again but it’s never awkward

he doesn’t offer up hugs if he sees you again, but you know he’d accept one no question if you asked

Bones:

he might not register what you’re asking for a second, because it’s not a request he gets very often

grumbling under his breath about not having time for this, but in reality he’s over the moon

“get over here, sweetheart”

king of platonic pet names. he knows well enough that this is notttt romantic

he smells like antiseptic and pear soap

his hugs are tight as hell, enough that you might have to remind him that he’s not trying to break your ribs

swaying hugs are his thing

while he holds you he’d definitely ask if anything’s up, or if this is a just-because-hug

would complain that this is why he doesn’t get close to patients, while simultaneously rubbing your back happily

once you get past the intimidating facade he’s a softie and pretty easy to ask for hugs

only in private though. never in public

if you do something great in the future he might hold out his arms for a hug randomly

Scotty:

he’s honestly miffed you haven’t asked him for a hug before

absolutely lights up at the question, clumsily putting down anything he’s holding and putting his arms out wide

“tha’s a good kid, c’mere”

he smells like engine oil and grease and something slightly singed. in a good way

surprisingly soft. he’s gentle and squeezy and keeps patting you on the back

he might lift you off your feet for a couple of seconds before putting you back down

very laughter-filled hugs

if youre upset he might try and tickle you a little

after asking, of course

he wouldn’t do long hugs, but he’d be regretful about it. as it is he’s probably neglecting some jefferies tube that’s about to malfunction or burst into flames

after that you’re not getting hugs when he’s busy, but if he’s got time and he sees you in the hall he’d call out “where’s my hug, lad?” (gender neutral) and follow through on it

he’s the one asking for hugs, and even though they’re short they’re very good natured

Uhura:

perhaps the least intimidating person on the Enterprise to ask for a hug. if you were asking all of the crew, you’d do her first because she gives off comfortable vibes

she would repeat your question back to you - “can you have a hug? of course you can!”

the first one to initiate the hug

no swaying whatsoever. she’s like a steady rock, and her hold is the perfect tightness

this is the best hug you’ve ever had

you are going to remember this hug for at least two years

you’re legitimately planning on calling your parent and telling them all about this hug, it’s just that good

she smells like perfume and freshly brewed herbal tea

while you’re hugging, she would definitely go “awwww” or make some sort of sweet little positive comment

you both let go at the same time. it feels like you never want to step away

she tells you that you guys can do hugs all the time if you want, and you get the feeling she really means it genuinely

whenever you see her she’ll hold out her arms for a hug no matter what, even if she’s talking to someone she’ll hold them out knowing you’ll come

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 08

Kinktober Masterlist ad vitam aeternam - "to eternal life" Johnny "Soap" MacTavish/141 x gn!reader Kinks > mind control, vampires, blood-sucking Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

The 141 vampire coven is terrorizing tiny villages in Northumberland, but you work nights and you really need this job. When a cute guy named Johnny offers to walk you home, you feel grateful for the free security. Unfortunately, you start feeling drowsy and confused. Where do you live, again? “It’s okay, bonnie. I’ll make sure you get there safe and sound.” 

No specific body traits or genitalia are mentioned. Gender neutral pronouns used. The only gendered nicknames are when Soap refers to the reader as "bonnie" or "hen" but no use of "lass" or "girl".

This work trip had definitely taken a turn. You’d expected to be at the north edge of England for about three weeks, but it was going on three months for this project with no end in sight. You were staying close to Northumberland National Park, helping map an updated migratory route for the bat colony that roosted on The Sill of Hadrian’s Wall. However, as animals often do, the bats made their own schedule for when they wanted to appear, and you hadn’t collected nearly enough data to feed to the tracker model. 

But, you weren’t complaining too loudly. Your cottage was located in a barely-there village called Elishaw, and it was as romantic as it could be. The only problem was that, after the evening sun set and the bats had all returned to their roosts, the closest place to get a pint was a three kilometer hike on a two lane road with no lights, signs, or footpaths. 

In the daytime, the view of the area was lovely. Rolling hills, black forests, and green sheep-dotted fields stretched out before you as far as the eye could see. Everyone who drove past you would wave, and you would wave back. It was lovely… when the sun was shining. But, now, as winter chased away the warmth of autumn, it brought grey clouds and a constantly setting sun, making the nights frigid and windy.

It was spooky the first time you’d gone at night, but now that you’d ripped off the proverbial bandage, the second time was no big deal. At this point, you’d been down to the Redesdale pub dozens of times, and you often walked alone, in the middle of the night, bundled up like an arctic explorer, drunker than you’d ever been.  

Tonight was one of those nights. 

“Are ye sure ye’ll be alright by yersel’, hen?” Thomas, the barkeep worried over you in his semi-local Berwickian accent.

“Yeah, Tom,” you smiled up at him, “I only had two pints. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home before I know it.”

“There’s been talk of wild dogs takin’ to eatin’ the Kilpatrick’s sheep, Tom. ‘S not safe for a visitor to go alone, ye ken?” A man’s voice, Scottish instead of Northumbrian, piped up from the back of the bar. 

You hadn’t even realized there were other people with you and Tom. But, the grizzled barkeep smiled knowingly, 

“Ah, Johnny. Take ‘em back with ye, lad. Make sure ye get home safe and sound. I’ll worry the night away if ye dinnae go together.”

“No trouble, Tom. Headed that way, besides. C’mon, bonnie. Tha’s us, then,” Johnny paid for your tab and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you out of the pub with a speed and ease that should have been alarming. 

But, you had to admit, it was nice to have an escort on your scary road for a change. 

Except… this wasn’t your road.

“Hey, I thought that was the way back there?” You pointed through the trees at the path you usually took, the one that was wide open and clearly visible, not the path through the dark forest.  

“Dinnae fash, yourself, bonnie. It’s a wee shortcut,” Johnny assured you. 

His smile was so easy to believe. The light that shone in his bright blue eyes was intoxicating, and his body was statuesque. He told you all about himself - the town he was from, where he went to school, how he was a sergeant in the RAF. It was fascinating. So thrilling, in fact, you came to your senses about thirty minutes into your trip, knowing you should be seeing landmarks, and yet you were even deeper in the woods than you’d been when you started. 

“You feelin’ alright, hen? Lookin’ a little puggled. Think you’ll make the trip, though. Just a bit further.”

“Where… um, where are… you… taking me?” Your words slurred together, and you felt like you were trapped between being awake and being asleep, knowing you couldn’t have drank enough to make you muddle your speech.

“Gonnae stop by my place for a moment,” Johnny pointed to a blackstone cairn that sat on the side of a hill, “Should only be a wee minute. Do ya wanna come in with me?”

When he asked you the last question, he made a point to make you meet his gaze, and when you did, his eyes invaded your mind. You felt as if you couldn’t look away, and the only word that could come out of your mouth was a yes. 

You didn’t want to go inside that creepy fucking cairn. There was no way this was actually his house. But, you followed him, your body putting one foot in front of the other without needing for your mind to be on board with the plan. 

“You ken,” he talked to you as he held your hand, “Tomorrow’s Samhain. Gonnae celebrate with a wee bonfire, maybe a few more drinks. Want me to tell my mates to set the table for one more?”

Again, your brain blanked out when you replied to him. Had you said yes again? What was happening to you?

Finally, you made it to the mouth of the cairn, and a crude wooden door blocked your entrance. Johnny pulled it open and held it for you, waving his hand in a ladies-first sort of sweep. You couldn’t help but obey. So, you walked into the dark stone hut, discovering that the inside was filled with flaming logs in a round well in the center and rows of lit candles surrounding the space. 

“Hey!” Johnny called out into the crude building, “We’ve got company, lads.”

Too quickly, three other men appeared in the room. You wanted to say that they walked or that they ran, but they didn’t. You could lie to yourself about that later, but you knew they had just suddenly fucking spawned there. Your body, however, failed to react in shock like you wanted to. 

They were gorgeous; just as handsome and well-muscled as Johnny, but their eyes seemed less kind. There was something predatory about their faces, especially the one with the beard. He seemed cold in a way that was beyond cruelty. It made you shiver more than the cold wind ever could. 

“Well done, Johnny,” the bearded one spoke, reaching out to stroke your cheek, “Such a pretty thing, hm?” 

You wanted to pull your face away from his touch, but your will was muted, your desire gone, and your sense of self-preservation completely absent from your mind. The only thing you could still do, it seemed, was speak to them. But, even then, it was hard to form the words. 

“Johnny asked me to come for dinner. I hope that I’m not intruding,” you went for politeness over screaming your bloody head off. No one would hear you all the way out here anyway. Maybe if you were nice to them, they’d let you leave.

“Not at all, love,” the bearded one said again, taking your coat from your shoulders and tossing it down on a chair. 

You felt Johnny’s lips begin to trail their way up your neck as he stood behind you. He was kissing you with a hot passion, his teeth dragging across your smooth flesh. Then, his hands reached around to grope your chest, fondling your nipples under your shirt, pinching them in his hands cruelly.

“How could you intrude?” The tall, Black man replied, his teeth straight and sharp and gleaming in the low light of the room, “Guests are always welcome here, especially when they smell as delicious as you do.” 

“Besides,” his gigantic, blond friend responded, “You’re not here for dinner, love. You are dinner.”

As you saw the fangs drop into the hollow of the blond’s mouth, you felt Johnny’s set on your neck. He bit down into you and began to suck from you, taking gulps of your hot, crimson blood down his throat. It felt orgasmic, but there was something so very wrong about it, too. A dying part of you was yelling at you to run, but that voice was muted by the urgency of your pleasure.

Then, panic welled up in your chest. Who were these men? How did you get here? You needed your phone, something, anything to call the emergency line and get the cops over here. 

Yet, you were motionless. Your brain felt like it had finally been washed away to a blank, empty slate. It was painful to be drained from your neck and wrists and, now, from your chest as the immense blond lifted your shirt to suckle from your flesh, biting into your nipple with his two, long fangs, and draining your life from you. But, you let him. You let all of them feed and fondle you. You were in their thrall, and there was no escape.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks as you realized you weren’t going home again. You were prey to a coven of vampires, and you’d be lucky if they just killed you quickly rather than prolonged your life. 

Johnny shoved his hand down the front of your pants and began to play with your sex, moaning when he found its warmth. He pulled his mouth away from his meal for a moment and asked a question to the man with the beard.

“Can we keep this one, sir? Tastes too damn good.”  

“Aye, Johnny,” his leader told him, lifting your chin with his thick finger, “The ritual’s tomorrow, and I know you’ve been a good lad. So, just this once, we can keep ‘em.”

[naffeclipse]

Have you seen anything about Lethal Company? The idea of your cryptid lads watching over and protecting y/n while y/n looks for scrap in their territory makes me smile. They always make sure Y/n meets their quota to avoid any repercussions with The Company

I have seen so much about Lethal Company and this ask makes me go crazy because AUGH I've been chewing on a sort of AU with the DCA in a Bracken-esque role but, perhaps, a bit more interested in Y/N than a monster otherwise would be.

You're just a measly intern. That's all too clear with how the company sends you the utmost dangerous moons searching for loot and scrap. The hauntingly empty facilities and lifeless manors hold the keys to fulfilling your quota for the week, but you're not alone.

On the occasions when you get separated from your crew or find yourself left behind, you feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, aware of something—someone watching you. You carry a piece of scrap that most likely isn't worth the effort (but how could you return empty-handed?) The sinking feeling that, as much as you dread isolation, it would be safer than the near-silent footsteps following just behind you.

Your mouth grows dry. The pulse in your ears begins drowning the metallic echo of your picked-up pace, and then panic takes hold. You burst into a run, racing for the door, and when you frantically grab the handle, a cold, long-fingered touch seizes the cloth at the back of your neck before you throw yourself outside.

In the dusty air of the moon, you turn back to the door, now slammed shut. You drop the scrap to touch the back of your neck—the orange jumpsuit is torn into ribbons just below your helmet. Claws, you think. Claws so close to grabbing your neck and never letting go.

The next day, with only your flashlight and a walkie-talkie, one of your fellow interns abruptly cuts off mid-sentence (was that a scream or just the static crackling?) Left without even a voice for the company, your skin prickles with full-body goosebumps under the eerie weight of eyes watching you.

You turn slowly to look up the stairway you had just descended. The air in your lungs freezes. You clutch the flashlight tighter. Your helmet system blinks across your vision.

New creature data sent to terminal!

In the darkness engulfing the upper platform stands a dark figure with two piercing, white eyes. You whip up your flashlight and beam it on the terrifying being, catching strange frond-like petals of yellow surrounding a flat, disk-like face. Rooted to the floor in terror, you stare. It tilts its head, petals ruffled, in a snap of agitation. It grumbles low in warning.

You drop the walkie-walkie and run deeper into the darkness, your flashlight beam swinging over the walls with the pounding of your steps echoing horrendously through the deep belly of the facility. The primal instincts of your mind take hold, impulses firing to stay alive.

You come to a dead end. A lone light flickers along the ceiling. Cornered, your palms slamming against the bricked wall as if you could push it down, you start to tremble. You turn back, back pressed against the wall, your helmet softly clanking against the stone.

The beam of your flashlight cuts off. You drop that, too. A whimper of fear escapes you when a shadow moves at the end of the long hallway. Though darkly swathed, pale eyes pinning you in place, the figure crouches, creeping forward on hands and knees. The petals about its face have shifted, dropping to the back of the head and swinging down like a tapered tail. You can't look away. The creature tips its head to one side, the appendage trailing over its shoulder like a nightcap. It grumbles low, displeased.

You turn your head away, pressing deeper against the wall. Your every heartbeat is a swing of a sledgehammer chipping away at your ribcage. Bile rises in the back of your throat.

Then silence.

You clench your hands. Slowly, you carefully lift your eyes and gaze at the end of the hallway.

It's gone. The sunflower face and now nightcap head creature vanish like a bad dream in the morning.

You don't move for several seconds, and when you finally straighten and hug your shaking self, you carefully make your way through the darkness. The sinister awareness of being watched doesn't leave. It never does. You find an emergency exit. A chance to live yet. You feel something cold and heavy standing at your back.

You reach for the door when a large hand grabs the back of your neck. A scream jams itself in your throat. Breathless, frozen, you stand very still. It squeezes lightly as if testing the bones of your spine. Its shadow falls over you. Its other hand enters the corner of your vision, reaching for your face as if to smother you through the helmet. It begins tugging on your throat, pulling you away from the door.

"Stay... friend..." it rasps near-silently.

The flashlight in your grip is heavy. Before the creature captures your head, you throw it back at the beast. Light flares when the plastic hits, sparking with one drop of juice still left, and then you rip yourself free. A quiet grunt of pain echoed under the flash. You throw yourself outside, only turning back to slam the door and unwittingly catch a glimpse of the creature clutching its face. Petals twist and writhe around and behind its head in a clash of its early appearances. Between its long fingers, a face, half yellow and half dark with a static grin peeking out at the corners, twists in shock.

The resounding shut of the door reverberates in your head. You escaped. You gasp and clutch your chest. Somehow, your heart is still within you, fluttering like an injured bird in front of a cat. Your system sent new information to the bestiary catalog.

You keep breathing and unsteadily make your way back to the ship, carrying the searing imprint of the monster's hand on the back of your neck.

[itsfeckinwimdy]

3 times Toto was oblivious + the 1 time he was surprised

George Russell x Reader

Reader Pronouns: She/Her

Prompt: Toto Wolff may be a good team principal but that doesnt mean hes good at observing things.

Work Count: 1.2k (1257) words

Tree speaks: The physical restrain I had to put on myself to not write Grussell every time I wrote George was immense. This one is a lot better than last week's. I was able to actually enjoy writing this so I might change up what I post each week to keep it varying.

Also, I know that George doesn't have James as his race engineer but I can't part with him so he's in this.

Formula 1 Masterlist

Published: 24/12/2022

One

Barcelona

If Toto thought he was going to have issues with George and Y/n getting along with each other after Lewis' departure as a driver then he would surely be proved wrong.

To him he couldn't have asked for a better pairing, the exception being Y/n and Lewis as they were the dream team, but to him, the new duo seemed to get along a little too well sometimes. Maybe it was him overanalysing everything like he tended to do so, but he had to be critical of his team and ensure that it was the best it could be especially after the consequences of last year.

Toto looked over at where the two were standing in the garage talking to each other. The screens in front of them clearly displayed the data he presumed the two were meant to be reading but were they paying any mind to it at the moment? Of course not.

He had half a mind to go over there and strangle them as they needed to get ready for their first test drive in the W13. However, he paused in his movements. The two of them had descended into fits of laughter, Y/n's hand gripped George's bicep as she held herself upright whilst the younger lad smiled broadly at her. When their laughter ceased, their smiles never faded and they continued to stare at each other. And Y/n's hand never moved.

And Y/n's hand never moved-

Toto's eyes squinted as he stared at them. Was there- no, Toto shook his head ridding himself of those thoughts. There was nothing going on between the two of them.

Two

British grand prix

As Toto continued to discuss and dissuade George from going to the stewards, he didn't notice his other driver clamber out of her car. It wasn't until he saw a blur of black fireproofs barrel into George that he realised she was back in the garage.

He saw the way George pulled her in close to him and how he held the back of her still helmet-clad head whilst she hugged him tightly. His eyebrows furrowed slightly when he noticed that the hug was lasting longer than normal only for the thought to be pulled straight out of his mind as Y/n stepped back to pull her helmet and HANS device off.

"You out of the race?" Y/n asked George only for Toto to sigh in response. He really didn't want to have to listen to George's rant about not being allowed to race again when there was nothing wrong with the car bar a missing tire. Yes, he agreed that it was shitty that he couldn't have started the car up again, however, once the marshalls move the car, the driver is not allowed to continue racing in it.

"Don't-" Toto began, interrupting George from beginning his rant once again, "I don't want to hear another word, we just have to focus on your race now."

The Austrian continued with his avid discussion about what was to happen next not noticing the entwined hands of his drivers or picking up on the "Stay safe" that left George upon Y/n climbing back into the car.

Three

Circuit of the Americas

When the Mercedes crossed the finish line, eruptions of cheers exploded through the garage and the pit lane as Toto himself was ecstatic. Y/n had managed to get the first win for Mercedes of the year and George had continued his streak of being in the top 5 of each race.

That had transpired just over two hours ago and the team was in the process of getting the team photo's ready. The two drivers were currently in the cold air of the garage softly talking to each other whilst their physios were helping them with their cooldown routines.

Toto was currently conversing with James and Bono about how they could improve for the upcoming weekends when his attention was drawn to the back of the garage.

Y/n was hunched over in her seat, an ice pack being held to her lower back by her physio, her hands clasped in her teammates. A few tears fell from her eyes as Toto deduced it was from the pain of the cars' porpoising issues which was mentioned by both drivers earlier today.

George's hand came up to cup her face, wiping away her tears as he kept speaking to her.

Toto turned his gaze away from the two making sure to mention to the race engineers about the porpoising issue they were already aware of but making sure they knew it needed sorting instantly before he walked out the garage to check on the progress of getting the cars in place.

But what he missed in his absence was the two race engineers looking at the two young drivers, witnessing the younger lad place a chaste kiss on Y/n's forehead before resting his own against hers.

+ One

Brazil

The entire Mercedes team crowded into parc ferme underneath the podium, waiting for celebrations to commence. Toto stood amidst the crowd with Susie by his side.

The spray of champagne rained down on him from high above where George had chosen to spray it over the crowd whilst being doused in it himself by his teammate.

Toto couldn't be prouder of the two. Having been able to witness George's first win in both the sprint and the Grand Prix and the first Mercedes 1-2 of the weekend, he couldn't have been happier.

Except that now meant adding the W13 to the collection of race-winning cars.

Maybe there was a spot near the back for it.

Focusing back up on the podium, he saw Y/n pull Goerge into her arms and kiss him, hands reaching up to push the Mercedes cap from his head.

Wait-

Toto blinked in shock as the crowd around him roared in joy.

Are those two together?

He looked at Susie next to him, and then Bono at his other side only to see the two of them cheering the couple, no- the drivers, on.

Had he seriously missed this?

Bonus

"Guess they've finally stopped sneaking around then."

The ever so infuriating voice of Christain Horner flew into Toto's ears as the Austrian turned to look at the greying man.

"What do you mean by that?" Toto questioned him, not understanding what the red bull team principal was referring to.

"Y/n and George," Christian continued, but upon still seeing the confusion on Toto's face he chuckled to himself slightly, "You didn't know?"

"What? Have the two of them been dating for a while now?" Toto slowly put two and two together from the event that occurred on the podium a mere hour ago and Christian's words.

The short British man laughed at the taller man's confusion and blindness, "Oh Toto, everyone knew. They've not entirely been good at keeping it a secret."

And with that Horner walked back to his garage, leaving the Austrian standing in the pitlane contemplating where he went wrong. He heard some muffled laughter from next to him and his head turned to look at the culprit only to see his wife, Susie.

"Was it really that obvious?" he asked her, knowing that she would at least be honest with him.

"Oh, Toto-" Susie nodded as she kept trying to hold in her laughter at her husband's ruffled nature only for him to walk off into the garage and throw his hands up in frustration.

[skellymom]

"Silent But Deadly"

The FIRST Bad Batch Comedy One Shot in the ONE SHIT SERIES!

Background: A stinky stench "rustles up" controversy.

Word Count: 780 words

Warning: Farts, fiery crop dusting, stinky humor, swearing.

The Bad Batch landed on Anaxis at the meeting point with the 212th for a special mission. Hunter led the way and greeted Commander Cody who introduced them to Rex. 

Cody’s clone troopers loaded onto their flying transport first with The Batch filing in after them. The door slid closed as the ship ascended on its journey to Skako Minor. All was quiet as each soldier stared ahead, contemplating the scope of this mission...until... 

...Hunter suddenly started with a coughing fit. 

“You ok, Sergeant?” Cody concerned, watched Hunter thump his chest with a closed fist, struggling to articulate his issue. 

“Uh...cough...be...ok...” 

Then the ruckus began. Cody and Rex watched as each Reg in the 212th violently protested one by one. Falling out of formation like a line of dominoes. 

“WHAT THE KRIFF!?” 

“Smells like a Rancor crapped in here!” 

“What died???” 

“I’m gonna die!” 

“Who shit themselves???” 

One trooper even tried to put his helmet on to avoid the fumes...to find the horrendous smell was trapped in with him, “GAAAAH!” 

It wafted up to Cody and Rex who grimaced and gagged. 

Every Reg in the 212th angrily glared back at The Batch. 

Hunter, ever the gentleman and a leader, tried to take the blame. “Uh, sorry Lads...huh, gag...too many rations for...gag...breakfast.” He exhaled, fanning himself. 

An angry Reg spoke up, “NO! I think it was the big guy!!! No way Sergeant Super Smeller did that!!!” 

Everyone stared at Wrecker. 

“WHAAAT???” Wrecker clearly had NO clue what was going on...as his sense of smell was deader than a Drydak. 

Another Reg threw in his guess. “Yeah! The other two look like their asses are so tight you’d hear a SQUEAK!!!” 

Tech’s head shot up from his data pad and gazed over alarmed at the Reg who was speaking with authority about HIS anatomy. 

“ENOUGH!!!” Cody bellowed. Everyone immediately straightened up to full attention. “Corporal, open the bay door and air it out!” 

Rex, speechless, put his hand over his nose. 

Tech quietly glanced at Crosshair. There was a satisfied look on Cross’ face with just a hint of a grin. Cross gave Tech the side eye. Tech glared back at Crosshair with his best dignified, “YOU ASSHOLE” expression. Cross just chewed on his toothpick. He was clearly VERY pleased with himself. 

Hunter leaned into Crosshair and whispered. “Do it again and I’m personally throwing your ass off this ship.” 

“Mhm...Almost worth it.” He snarked back arrogantly. 

Even though quiet and still standing at attention, it was clear the 212th Regs were fuming during the rest of the ride to Skako Minor. 

Finally landing sometime later, the men filed out of the ship with several of the Regs body checking Wrecker as they walked past. 

“HEY!” Wrecker protested. 

“Get out of my way you STINKY BEAST!” 

“YEAH, were you trying to gas us out back there!!!” 

“THAT’S IT! Tech, gimme your repair torch!!!” Wrecker had enough of this BS. 

Tech protested “I don’t see how that’s relevant to this situation...” 

Wrecker yanked the torch off Tech’s utility belt and turned towards the two Regs. 

“For the record...I’M NOT QUIET!” His voice rising.  

“What are you going on about STINKY???” The Reg stood his ground sneering. 

Wrecker wasn’t going to let this go. “You know what I like to do???” 

Both Regs stood there looking at Wrecker, then glanced at each other, then back at Wrecker and just shrugged. 

“I LIKE TO BLOW THINGS UP!!!” Wrecker shouted. With that he turned around, bent over, engaged the torch and squeezed out a LOUD fart that sounded like a TUBA BLAST. It ignited like a flame thrower, shooting out a jet of fire from his bum. The blast rolled over both Regs where they stood. Two high pitched Wilhelm screams were heard as both Regs took off running...their heads smoldering. 

Wrecker laughed like a maniac...and handed the torch back to Tech. 

Tech embarrassedly cleared his throat. “Uh...I assume those soldiers will need medical assistance...” 

Rex turned to Cody mortified. “THESE are the guys that are supposed to help us find ECHO???” 

“Yep...” Cody deadpanned. 

***************************************** 

Later, after Kix had medically treated the Regs, Cody marched them over to Wrecker to apologize. Both men were noticeably missing two things: Dignity and their eyebrows. 

Wrecker couldn’t help himself. “Whattsamatter? You BOTH look so...SURPRISED!” 

The rest of the 212th erupted in hysterical laughter. From then on NOBODY picked on Wrecker and he was the regiment favorite. 

Crosshair sat nearby on a boulder watching all the action go down. 

Hunter strolled up to Crosshair and kicked his boot. “You know this is all your fault, right?” 

Cross pulled out a fresh toothpick, inserting it into his mouth. 

“Hmmm...and enjoying EVERY minute of it.” 

PLEASE like, comment, and/or REBLOG!

IF YOU WISH TO BE ADDED OR DROPPED FROM MY TAG LIST, PLEASE MESSAGE ME! Don't just comment as I might miss it. Thanks!!! <3

To read #2 in this series:

https://www.tumblr.com/skellymom/740278235151106049/bombs-away?source=share

[gallusrostromegalus]

So now that we're getting into the nitty-gritty about the zanpakuto, I'm immensely curious about what you're gonna do with Kaname's zanpakuto. Cuz if I remember canon right, he "inherited" (graverobbed?) the sword from his deceased friend, who we are told is the impetus for his whole crusade and made it his own to honor her. I'm interested to see your thoughts :))

You are remembering canon correctly! Suzumushi is NOT Kaname Tousen's Sword! It's the Sword of his friend/unrequited love interest Kakyo NoSurnameInCanon, who was fridged murdered, and when the central 46 refused to prosecute her killer because of his Noble status, that's when Kaname's crusade began, carrying Suzumushi.

...yeah.

In AEIWAM, it's similar, but instead of a friend/unrequited love interest-

Kaname is twelve when he dies suddenly, and reincarnates in the Soul society as a Tween. He is unceremoniously dumped on a country back road in West 51 with only the clothes he died in and no memory of his previous life besides his given name. Kakyo is also about twelve when she dies, and is dumped about four feet away from Kaname five seconds later, and sprains her ankle on the fall. She remembers her past life ("It Sucked"), and reassures Kaname that the guy that left her here said there was a 50-50 chance she'd lose her entire memory. That must be what happened to him. Kakyo can't walk on her injured ankle, but she can see where she's going. Kaname is a strong lad with great balance, and offers to carry her on his back if she can navigate him towards a village. It takes several freezing cold nights, scavenging for food and a terrifying encounter with a rabid dog before they finally reach the village.

Since neither actually knows their birthday, but were both 'reborn' on November 13th, and because they look extremely different, they decide that they are now brother and sister. And ever since then, Kakyo and Kaname regarded each other as twins.

They actually stumble into a library at the edge of a fairly large river trading port, run by Tomoko Tousen, a retired Gotei-13 Archivist, and her husband Yasuke, a retired shinigami, who gained a surname when they married. They never had children of their own, and it's nice having the young things about, so they adopt the 'twins', and they become Kakyo Tousen and Kaname Tousen. Fortunate, as it rapidly becomes apparent the twins have spiritual powers of their own.

Kaname is the gentler and shyer twin, and closer to his godmother, who figures out how to enchant a pair of glasses so they can 'read' text he looks at and speaks it to him, and he takes to books and archiving and data science like a duck to water.

Kakyo is a litter rougher and more gung-ho twin and takes after her adopted godfather, and dreams of leaving home and becoming a Shinigami herself... but their godparents are elderly, and can't run the library on their own, and she doesn't want to leave Kaname completely on his own.

Still, when she wakes up one morning from fitful dreams to discover she's holding a sword of her own, the whole family rejoices. Suzumushi is a not very powerful Zanpaktou, and strangely eager to avoid conflict for a weapon, and is content to stay in the river town, practicing Katas with Yasuke and occasionally lightly Harassing her weilder's brother- but before the year is out, Kaname has gotten used to sometimes having what feels like a clockwork cicada climb up his back or sit on his head, chiming and chittering while he works.

One day though, Kaname is talking with Yasuke, about how neither of them remembers their previous lives. Yasuke confides that while he doesn't remember who he was or where he lived, there are some memories that not even death can erase, like how his body remembered exactly what to do the first time he picked up a sword.

Kaname has nightmares after that, of picking up Suzumushi and knowing exactly how to wield her.

Time passes, Their godparents pass. And Kakyo stays with Kaname. Neither one really wants the other to be alone.

Then one day, A komuso monk comes to the library, body covered in robes and face hidden by his Tengai. ... A Really Big Monk. His name is Komamora Sajin, and from the way he acts around Kaname, Kakyo can tell he's taken care of people who are frail and missing senses before. Kaname is very fond of him- they have similar natures, and the actually-nine-foot-tall Sajin is very good at getting things off of high shelves and convincing difficult patrons to behave themselves. Eventually, he asks to stay on a more permanent basis, and Kakyo begs him to do so- she needs to become a Shinigami, but she can't abandon Kaname. They agree, and when she tells Kaname "Stay here, and stay gentle." it her telling her how much she loves him, and wants him to be happy.

...So you can imagine how devastating her death was for him.

Doubly so when he arrives in Seireitei to handle her funeral arrangements and touches Suzumushi's hilt for the first time- the rage, the grief of the sword spirit courses through him, baying for vengeance- and worse still, so does his body's memory of how to weild a sword.

He and Kakyo were about as close as humans can get, and Suzumushi knew him for as long as the spirit had known Kakyo- if there's someone who'd be willing to avenge her master's death, it's her beloved 'twin' brother.

...but this implies a lot of WIERD stuff about Kaname and his relationship with Suzumushi.

Sometimes Zanpaktou can be passed from one person to another, incarnating a bit differently each time (like how Senbonsakura is the Kuchiki Family Sword), but other Zanpaktou will die if thier wielder does. Suzumushi is not a particularly powerful zanpaktou- Tousen and Suzumushi are regularly ranked last in the "most powerful captains" fan-polls and rightly so I think. Rightly so, because I think Kaname's power is significantly nerfed by carrying a sword that is not his. Even if he and Suzumushi are particularly close, that's different than his own, and I don't think Suzumushi ever intended to be a heritable sword. Actually using her probably takes a ton more energy for Kaname that it ever did for Kakyo. Futhermore, Kaname might also be spending a ton of energy keeping Suzumushi alive past her time.

Suzumushi only has one potentially-lethal maneuver and that's an alternate form of her shikai. The regular forms are "Spell of take a nap and stop rioting" and "Spell of no for real you're losing your sensory privileges until you calm down". Both are way more crowd control abilities rather than Deuling ones, which fits with both his and Kakyo's characterization of wanting Soul Society to be a better place- Suzumushi is a sword that's practically built to get in the middle of a major battle and get everyone to STOP. And I gotta wonder- were these the original abilities of Suzumushi, or something she crafted for Kaname? Especially his Bankai- That's a weird Banaki for a sighted person like Kakyo to have. Or is it the original, drawn from Kakyo's experiences living with Kaname? Either way, he's either using tools not intended for him, or Suzumushi is heavily deviating from what she was meant to do, as a weapon.

My point is, as good as Kaname was- and he was good, he made Captain (and not just because they were... out of officers after the Turn Back The Pendulum Incident), but he did apparently hold his own in battle against everyone but fucking Kenpachi.

In AEIWAM, he does this by focusing on his technical skill as a swordsman- what he lacks in power or Zanpaktou abilities that are actually useful in Duels, he makes up for in learning really advanced, high-level Kido* and getting damn good at actually using his sword as a sword. In the fic, Kenpachi is a huge admirer and actually kind of Jealous of Kaname's technique- he declares that of all the captains, Kaname is the strongest, because he's the one punching highest above his weight class, while eveyone else (including him) is coasting by on their enormous power reserves or more duel-adept Zanpaktou, yet Kaname can go toe-to-toe with all

"It's like watching a little bitty Bat beat up a Tiger!" He says.

So, if Suzumushi is not Kaname's Zanpaktou, what is?

For that, I think we need to look at what happened to him after his hollowfication.

After dinner. this takes up a lot of brainpower.

[suzie-shooter]

Alex Rider season 3 unhinged liveblog ramblings scribbled during first watch. Spoilers, obvs. (also fair warning, I am not particularly a fan of Tom or Kyra lol)

Episode 1 - Widow

S2 recap trivia - Alex's therapist is Molly Doran from Slow Horses and married to Alan Blunt IRL

Malta: Ok, so we're not just going to pretend it's Venice lol.

Creepy old men already hitting on Alex. Standard.

"After this we're out of leads." How do you even have any leads in the first place? Oh ok, Smithers' phone. Terrible security protocols from him, leaving that much historical classified data on it.

"Find the Widow - surely he could have given you an address?" First thing Tom's ever said I've agreed with lmao

Aaaand within a second he's back to being deeply irritating, okay.

Yassen living rent free in Alex's head, you love to see it.

"They've got this picture of me being the responsible one." Have Tom's parents actually met him?

Ooh Razim mention.

You maybe want to clean that wound before whacking a dressing on it Alex?

"Do you think you'll ever lose your appetite Nile?" Spat my drink.

Damn, no harem pants then. Scrubs up well tho.

Listing Levin in the opening credits than having him be only a S2 flashback should be a warcrime.

Episode 2 - Lab

"This weapon is called pork sword, wait, no, shit, wrong USB."

"Julia Rothman. Definitely a wrong un." Spat my drink again.

Do Crawley and Pritchard not warrant helmets and visors? Are they somehow immune to shrapnel?

So, room 6, wired to blow, yes? It's what I'd do…

Oh yeah sure guys, they're going to still be sitting there, all unmoving in the dark, for sure that's a person, and not a Massive Trap.

Thereeeee we go. Agent mince. Top of your class huh, well you're certainly at the top now, and down the sides and partially out of the window.

I know there's the whole 'characters don't know what genre they're in' thing but you are literally in the 'working for MI6 genre', you are up against people notorious for booby traps and blowing shit up, why the fuck would you touch something that hadn't been declared safe first? Apart from anything else you're fucking up the scene before forensics get there.

"I love you man." Vom.

Alex: breaks into super sekkrit lab. Also Alex: doesn't have the faintest fucking idea what he's looking at, so not really helpful.

COMICALLY LARGE BOMB KLAXON.

Episode 3 - Enemy

"Welcome to Malagosto." OooOOooh.

Maybe I'm just looking at it from a fic writer's perspective but it does seem a massive anticlimax to immediately let Tom and Kyra know Alex is okay? Like, you could have got a good couple of episodes of angst out of that uncertainty.

"Do you want me to kill them?" Oh God yes please.

Why the fuck have they plugged the USB directly into the network rather than an isolated PC? 'Hur dur we checked it first', you literally believe Scorpia are smart enough to not be bluffing about the nebulous death threat but you don't think they could hide something on the hardware? Fuck's sake lads. Amateur hour.

Is this Home Secretary meant to be Suella Braverman? Or Priti Patel maybe lol. (Equal rights and all that, and if it had been a white male character I don't think I would have thought twice about the dialogue but having both your two new female characters be immediately proved wrong/ massively patronised/ blown up ain't hugely comfortable viewing tbh).

HOW MANY FICS INVOLVING ALEX GETTING FUCKED ON THAT BED HAVE JUST BEEN BORN?

"Are you suggesting we break into a dead man's house?" "It's not like he's going to be there." 😂

"He became a very close friend of mine." Fnar.

Omg making Alex read his father's love letters is hilarious.

Alex: you could have faked that news report Also Alex: handwriting can definitely never be faked (how is Alex even familiar with his dead father's handwriting? wouldn't recognise mine)

Ugh please stop trying to make Alex/Kyra happen.

Alex up the vent shaft. I hope they're sitting casually at the top going - you could have just taken the stairs love.

If he's climbing upwards, why is his hair dangling like he's upside down? Have they filmed this like 60's Batman, and he's just crawling along a horizontal set lol.

Alex never once asks about his mother does he. Given the shagger-John route they seem to have gone down you almost think Julia would be in a better shout of getting Alex to switch sides by claiming to be his mother.

And - yeah, Alex's recruitment just doesn't feel that convincing here. Adding Tom/Kyra/Jack so much to the mix has changed the feel of his life a lot, and TV verse Alex has had a lot less fucking over by the Department by this point too. And Rothman feels too creepy to be effectively convincing him of anything.

"I want you to meet your tutor." FUCK YES FINALLY 🙌 (may have rewound that part several times lol)

Episode 4 - Recruit

Nicaragua: 18 years ago OH MY GOD IT'S HAPPENING

Baby Yassen is adorable, I'm in love.

OH MY GOD THAT'S SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE FUCKIN SPIDER THING

OH MY GOD THE REVEAL OF HIM STANDING OVER THE SLEEPING ALEX I'M DEAD

(Ok, I'm calm again. For now. We continue.)

"You killed my uncle" - all the hundreds of ways this conversation has been written over the years and Yassen's just like lol get over it 😂 (here for it tbh)

Rothman: He's one of our best Yassen: One of? Bitch.

Yassen watching Alex train like 👀👀

"Did he ever tell you you're no fun?" Oh you want to have FUN with Yassen do you?

Yassen bitchslapping Alex to fuck, both hilarious and hot.

Oh, you want to be WET wet.

"Matteo's the guy with the blanket." Why is that so funny.

Omg Yassen stepping in to protect his boy and humiliating Nile in the process lol. And Alex doing what Yassen tells him, because of course he does 🥰

"This one is my responsibility" 🥰🥰

"What about love, friendship?" Alex has only known Yassen five minutes and is already down bad.

"Kind of lonely though, right?" Yeah, Yassen needs you at his side Alex, so step up and stop being a whiny little bitch about killing people.

Never get in the first taxi, rule one of espionage.

Yep, called it. Tom's like: I'll have my fucking tip back in that case.

This scene is so dark I have no fucking idea what's going on, I thought Nile had attacked Alex, but apparently not. Is Nile officially part of this exercise or not, it seems really unclear lol.

The power of friendship and sparklerabbits saves the day, apparently. Yawn.

Jesus, we really ATE with this ep, huh.

Episode 5 - Revenge

"Would you rather your arms around me, or my arms around you?" Way to make it creepy Tom you skeevy fuck.

"Can we focus please?" "We're multi-tasking."

Sure Grendel, rock up to the super sekkrit spy base in a massively conspicuous car why don't you?

"Yassen will give you everything you need." Oh I BET he will.

Feels sloppy them not removing the diffuser from the vent tbh.

"What does this say?" Alex hasn't inherited John's neat handwriting then lol. Alex leaning into him like that > me making noises only dogs can hear.

"You've put lockpick?" "I left my last one in Nile."

Ooh, suicide pill, nasty. Kind've pointless though, given they've been left with the evidence anyway.

Yassen in Alex's bedroom again, likely place for him to be.

"I don't want you to fail. I don't want you to die." 🥹💕🥰

Yalex roadtrip, let's goooo.

Disappointed they're not making Alex do the Entrapment infrared acrobatic sequence here lol.

If this is Yassen's idea of a date it definitely needs work.

So no surprise scorpions then? Can't have shit in Detroit Malta.

"Why? Why did she kill him?" Well taking things at face value here he was a highly murderous member of a terrorist organisation, so you know, kind've her job.

Yassen does like a casual lean, doesn't he.

Episode 6 - Target

Alex and Yassen have shacked up in London, hope there's only one bed.

Now they're in the back of a van, SO many opportunities for shagging, they're spoilt for choice.

Yassen's impressed look when Alex reels off all the security details, so proud of his boy.

"What happened to my mum?" Finally he wonders lol.

"And I'm good at it. You could be too." 🥹

"You think Alex killed him?" I mean, he was also there with a notorious assassin, so probably not, y'know.

Domestic Yassen cooking Alex's dinner and also cooking him a gun lol.

Smithers' "How I've missed you" ahahaha. Smithers/Kyra much better pairing tbh.

"He's actually quite good at this stuff." Smithers' little snort lmao

Time for Alex to be blacked up/ dunked in a teabag bath/ gussied up. Although he still looks exactly like Alex afterwards, which feels less useful lol.

"You love him, don't you?" Yassen loves him more. I have to say Alex had far more chemistry with Syl, and frankly for that matter with Tom. I really don't get the Kyra agenda.

"It's a dry hole." Alex's worst nightmare.

Is Alex going to look through Mrs Jones' knicker drawer?

Episode 7 - The Shot

Mrs Jones and her tall murderous hobbit son lol. Otto really looks about 58 here.

Hope they bill him for her fucked up fridge.

Is that Bath? Oh, it is.

Mrs Jones casually throwing Alex back into play lol. Maybe she can have a little revenge for him trying to shoot her.

"Everyone breaks into houses." Jack's face lol

Ewww put him down, you don't know where he's been (Yassen's bed, almost certainly)

"Remember they can't hurt you unless you invite them in." "That's vampires."

Yassen arguing in favour of going to rescue Alex MY HEART

"Sit down. I'm going to tell you a story. About your friend, John Rider." HOLY PLOTHOLE TIMELINE PATCHING BATMAN

"John was embedded inside Scorpia for three years." Not the only thing he was embedded in by the sounds of it.

Alex seems to be hallucinating again lol.

Yassen, maybe psychoanalysing your insane boss isn't the safest thing to be doing?

"It's quite mad Julia." Yassen really gives no shits omfg

"I know my place." Yes, at Alex's side.

I like how Julia thought telling Yassen she'd killed John would do anything other than piss him off lol.

Episode 8 - Invisible Sword

"But you do owe me a new fridge." LOLLLLLL

Crawley feeling like a spare part during this lift convo, hahaha

"Smithers, you can do me some kind of tracker, right?" "Yeah, if you promise to keep it on you this time."

Alex is like ohshit I'm gonna die fr

"Not for the agents. They undid their seatbelts." Eyyyyyyyy 👉

Aww they've given him a little baby assassin outfit, how cute.

Where's Yassen, has he just fucked off to the pub?

"For the head of Scorpia, you're a really bad liar."

Laughing at all the other Scorpia agents having to listen to this convo about their boss like we are not paid enough for this shit 😬

"Everyone else is getting what they want, let me have my cereal."

Protecting his boy to the last. Yassen really is purely on Alex's side, we love to see it.🥰

And OMG HE LIVESSSSSSSS 🙌🙌🙌🙌 (I voted yes in that poll, I had faith lol)

Well that was - far more fanservice than I dared hope for, after the meagre pickings we got in the first two series. Yalex supremacy to the motherfucking end, let's go.

[authorxxxxxx]

Celebrity Crush | Erling Haaland x fem!shy!short!reader

Request :

Imagine you and Erling are each others celebrity crushes (reader is an f1 driver or whatever you want them to be) and she goes to her first Man City Game but she is nervous because even though these famous she is quite shy

Most of the city lads know about Erling crush so when they see her they tease him saying things like “ooo your girls here” Erling doesn’t believe it until he see you for himself

After the game (a win of course) you both meet up after and since it’s your first time meeting they are both really flustered

Erling asks them on a data and they exchange numbers

After there 5th date Erling confesses his love for the reader and is such a simp for her

Maybe if you are comfortable it ends in really soft smut between the two and even softer aftercare

Xxxxx

Ps- I love your writing your doing so well, keep it up 🩷🩷

__________

Thank you so much for requesting this imagine , the idea was amazing and I was so glad that I had the chance on writing it .

Again thank you all for the undying suuport < 3 ( I WILL NOT STOP TELLING YOU ) .

Tw : nervousness , shyness , shity friends , the fem!reader is described as short , AND SMUT ( I tried OK ? ) .

Ps . I was so happy writing this .

English isn't my first language , so if you spot a mistake , please just bare with me .

5k words : )

Enjoy < 3

______________________________________________________________

Reader's Pov

Being a F1 driver is not an easy thing . It is not an easy thing at all . Everyone is constantly judging you for everything .

Especially if you are the only woman in a sport that most people are men .

I am not saying that F1 is a man's sport . I've known a lot of women in the Formula world , it is just that everyone is hard one you when you are the only woman in Formula racing with other people . And it is even harder when you are racing in F1 .

Currently I'm sitting in Toto Wolff's office with Susie .

" I don't know what I did wrong . I didn't say anything to him ." I said to Susie about what happened a few minutes ago in the conference room .

I was sitting with Lewis , George and Mike and we were all waiting for the other drivers to show up so we could discuss some things for the upcoming season .

But someone had other plans . . .

A lot of drivers didn't even showed up .

Lewis was starting to lose his patience and after a couple of minutes he got up and tried to search for the others .

" Where are you going ? " I asked him quietly looking up at him .

" I just want to get this over with and go home as everybody else wants , but there are just a few of us . " He said angrily .

" Let me come with you . " I said to him and the moment I got up from my chair , a certain Red Bull driver whispered : " Puppet " .

After that I just left the conference room and didn't show up .

" Honey it wasn't your fault . Everyone is anxious for the race . He didn't really mean it . " Susie said trying to calm my down .

It wasn't really working .

When Toto came in followed by Lewis , we went through the situation again , and then decided that we all need a brake .

This was a really good opportunity to visit Manchester and my family.

Maybe go out with some of my friends .

__________

Manchester

I hate my friends .

We decided to go all out tonight , maybe at some bar and then head back home , but my friends decided to bring me to my first football mach with Manchester City against Chelsea .

Not because they wanted to watch a football game .

No .

Because they know about the crash I have on a certain striker .

Erling Braut Haaland .

The man isn't even aware about my existence .

So what am I even doing here ?

__________

Erling's Pov

" OOO YOUR GIRLS HERE " !!! Jack Grealish screamed to Erling while they werje training before the start of the game .

" Stop screaming man . What are you even saying ? " Erling asked his close friend .

" I saw her man . I swear . She is right over there in the VIP section . " Jack said to him while pointing out in the crowd .

Erling grabbed his hand shocked . " Stop pointing . Your blind . She's not here . I would have seen her . "

" Yeah right . " Jack said while trying to hold his laugh .

" Ayo bro . Y/N's here . " Phil said walking towards them .

And with that Erling started panicking and Jack bursted out laughing.

__________

" Famous F1 driver for the AMG Petronas team is in the house . " The presenter said quietly while your face showed on the big screen of the City stadium .

Erling was shocked .

He stoped dead in his track .

Your beautiful features right infront of him .

" She is so cute . " He said to himself not knowing that the cameras were filming his reaction .

The internet is going to be on fire tonight .

__________

" OMG Y/N YOU ARE ON THE SCREEN !!! " Your friend scream to you pointing at the camera .

" Huh ? " You asked quietly , but she was right . Your while face was on the screen .

Feelinh embarrassed you looked down and missed the face of your biggest crush looking at you .

" OMG Y/N ERLING IS LOOKING AT YOU !!! " Your friend scream at you again shaking you this time .

" No he doesn't . " You said with a red face .

" OMG Y/N THERE IS A VIDEO ON TWITTER . YOU ARE ERLING'S CRUSH . " Your friend said to you while looking at her phone screen .

Soon the game started .

__________

Manchester City won against Chelsea and Ofcourse Erling scored the goal .

Everyone was celebrating .

Even you .

You left the stadium . Your friend went home with an other guy and left you alone . You didn't brought your car with you .

" I miss my Benz now . " You said to yourself while looking down walking to the parking session and then head out , when suddenly you heard laughs and voices .

" Oi Y/N how are you ? Did you liked the game ? You know Erling scored a goal . " Jack said to you while you saw Erling Haaland himself for the first time behing him .

When Jack started walking towars you , Erling went behind him and in a matters of seconds they were both right in front of you .

You and Erling were both looking at each other .

Didn't say a word .

" Erling has a really big crush on you Y/N and by your looks you seem to have too . I'll leave you both to it . " Jack said proud of himself and then walked away , leaving you both looking at each other .

__________

" Your face is really red . " Erling said quietly while looking down at you.

" Your really tall . " You too said guietly while looking up at him .

When you two realished what you both told one another you started laughing .

" Can I have your number ? " Erling asked you smiling .

" Ofcourse . "

" Do you have a ride home ? I can take you if you want . " He told you .

That night were he drove you home , you had your first date . It was a long drive and you got to know some things about each other .

" Will I see you again ? " He asked you when you reached your house .

" We can go out tomorrow for dinner . Is it okay with you ? " You asked him with a smile .

" Yes it is . " He answered and you gave him a kiss on the cheek .

After that you thanked him again and got out .

__________

You were both sitting in a park near your apartment , eating burger's and drinking Ice Tea .

" Are you sure you should be eating those things ? " You askeh him once again .

" No but I'm not gonna tell anyone and neither do you . " He answered and kissed your cheek smiling .

You were both dating for a couple of months and things have been great .

You loved him , but you were really afraid telling him .

" I am gonna delete my Instagram account . " Erling said defeated . " Everyone keeps calling me a simp and Jack encourages them . " He added and you laughed .

God . . . how much he loved you . Your smile , your eyes , your laugh .

" I know it's only been a while , but I think I love you . I really do . " He confessed and you could sense that he was worried that you might not share the same feelings .

But you interrupted his thoughts .

" I think I am in love with you too . I mean I know it's only been two months , but we are both happy and we are having a great time . We don't have to be anxious about it right ? " You said looking him in the eyes .

Suddenly you started kissing .

You didn't even know how you ended up in your apartment .

Erling holding your hands beside your head , your legs spread out for him , slowly sliding in and out of you .

All you could think about was him .

Only him .

The way he was giving you so much pleasure , but at the same time he was so soft with you .

Leaving kisses and hickeys on your neck and your collarbone's .

Holding each other like your entire life's depended on it .

Him kissing you like the worls was ending .

But the way his hips found yours in every thrust made you see oblivion .

You could feel him twitching everytime a soft moan escaped your mouth .

When he was close he left your hands and wrapped them beneath your back and your head embracing you in a thigh and warm hug .

Your hands found their way into his hair .

You were close too . He could feel you squeezing him everytime he reached a certain spot .

After a couple of minutes he bottomed out .

You reacher your high .

Both feeling high .

He didn't let you go for a second that night .

Holding each other , laughing , telling stories , having sex again , kissing .

And when the morning sun made it's appearance , you finally fell asleep .

__________

@unimportantbabymilksharkte

@evarasworld

[dr-futbol-blog]

Childhood's End

There sure are a lot of strapping young lads in this episode.

In Childhood's End (S01E06), we start sowing the seeds of jealousy that we find upon multiple instances both Sheppard and McKay express when it comes to the other's interest in a woman or a woman's interest in them (possibly this already started at the end of the previous episode with the handsy nurse; there Rodney was miffed, here Sheppard is miffed). Jealousy due to romantic rivalry between two men would make sense in a heteronormative context (women are paying more attention to my friend when they should be paying attention to me) but, uh. That is not and never will be the case with these two.

McKay mentions Samantha Carter at the outset and while he doesn't see the faces Sheppard pulls, we sure do. The thing is, McKay doesn't even say anything particularly incriminating. It's the mere tone of his voice when he mentions her name that Sheppard seems to pick up on.

Devil's advocate: Sheppard finds it distasteful that a fellow officer is being objectified. He finds 'locker room talk' crass, even though there's barely a hint of it here. Okay. But then he does this:

This lip thing is something that we see Sheppard do when ever he does not know how to deal with difficult emotions (a notable example is following the hug Elizabeth gives him after he survives a suicide mission in The Siege, Pt III). This is self-soothing behaviour.

The episode also starts with an example of something that I really don't like but which clearly stems from McKay's insecurity: indicating that he is of a superior intellect and that Sheppard is dumb ("I'm sorry: Yes, energy field good"). Yes, he also did that to Sam in the very beginning ("I have a weakness for dumb blondes"; let's preemptively insult the attractive person to take the sting off the inevitable rejection). He did actually already start this with Sheppard at the outset ("I knew that, of course. I'm just surprised that you did").

This is also one of the reasons I think 38 Minutes (S01E04) would have worked much better later on in the season: in it, we have another instance of McKay asserting his intellectual superiority over the others ("I apologise for being the only person who truly comprehends how screwed we are!") because he "reacts to certain doom a certain way" and Sheppard, being in the bind that he is, cuts him short real quick: "You've got to stop using your mouth and start using your brain!"

This is something that we return to time and again. McKay panics and starts going off on everyone around him focusing on all the wrong things, and Sheppard cuts through the fog to get his attention back to solving the problem.

In-universe, McKay is one of the smartest people alive. Some have argued even the smartest. According to Daniel Jackson, he could have won the Nobel Prize several times over. Yes. We later learn that Sheppard is of above-average intellect but obviously he is no match for Marty-Stu McKay because no one is.

Only, when it comes to strategy and strategic thinking, Sheppard is light years ahead of McKay.

This is a very good example of that: Sheppard is teaching McKay how to communicate on a mission. Be succinct, to the point, give only the information that is relevant. Clear communication and simplification of data is vital operation protocol, especially in scenarios of certain doom. Everyone knows that you're smarter than them my guy, he's just trying to keep you and everyone else unharmed.

This episode also marks the hilarious beginning of Sheppard's poor sense of direction. In fact, neither of them can keep a straight line with regards to orientation.

Sheppard can orient himself in the sky but not on land. McKay, as we later learn, cannot keep to a straight line on the ground or in the air.

In the episode, Keras and Sheppard bond real quick. The young village elder seems smitten. Good god, he looks Sheppard intensely in the eyes and says: "I’ll be honest with you, Sheppard. There’s nothing I’d like more than to spend more time talking with you… But it’s not possible." You know, like straight dudes do.

Sheppard also seems to like the boy just fine, although how much of his behaviour is designed simply to stop Keras from doing something he thinks is morally bankrupt is up in the air. They are sitting together, walking together, exchanging personal information.

There's also this:

Keras: Would you stand witness? Sheppard: Me? Well, what do I have to do? Keras: Just be there, as I prepare. We gather the strength from those close to us for the Sacrifice to come.

In the few brief moments they have spent together, they've apparently become close enough for him to ask Sheppard to witness his suicide ceremony. He even takes an arrow to the chest for this man he has just met.

What's real interesting, though, and which I'll return to in connection with Teyla's baby later is when Keras asks Sheppard whether he has any children. He responds: "Me? No. Not yet, anyway." Not yet. Not yet but he might want some one day.

The thing is, McKay's entire arc in this episode deals with him and how he is with children. He starts by being extremely annoyed by them like he's a big child himself. Ford tells the kids: "He's just upset because you're smarter than him." But by the end of the episode he has come to care for these children. He keeps them safe and protected, and makes sure that they haven't been hurt or traumatized by the ordeal. The persistence of these children changed him, and now he seems like he might make a great parent some day. And while they are antagonized by him, the kids also seem to really like him.

Now, what possible, possible reason could you have to bring up one character's desire for children in the future and showing what an excellent parent another character would make in the same episode? Hmm?

[izzyspussy]

fic where Jamie does something that will piss his dad off (not hard to do) and it ends up in the public eye somehow. maybe it started that way and Jamie just wasn't thinking it through at the time - or he was and decided to do it anyway, or maybe somebody was supposed to keep their mouth shut and didn't, or maybe it's another data breach, but whatever it is it gets out and it gets in the news cycle.

and maybe Jamie thought he was handling it okay but then suddenly wasn't, or maybe he found out his laundry was being aired at training like the lads all found out about it happening to Keeley. regardless, he ends up rushing into the managers' office - the closest room with a semblance of privacy, despite being occupied - to have a brief but spectacular panic attack about it.

because it just happens to be something his dad is not going to let slide, something he won't be satisfied yelling at Jamie over the phone about. he's gonna come around to show Jamie by hand exactly how he feels about it.

when the coaches question him, Jamie gives the barest bones explanation he can manage. this is what came out, if you haven't heard, and I'm freaking out because my dad is gonna want to teach me a lesson about it.

"So what you're saying is you need a place to stay," Roy says. Not a question. An offer, actually, if you speak Kentese. But Jamie shakes his head resignedly.

"No," he sighs bitterly. "Probably'll need a day or two off training, though."

There's a long, horrible pause - a pause where Beard gets exactly what Jamie means and Ted and Roy want so bad not to that they don't.

"Let me see if I have this right," Beard says, more to force the issue on the other two than because he himself needs any clarification - or because he has the faintest pipe dream that spelling it out will make Jamie change his mind. "You're planning to take a beating?"

Bitter, still bitter, Jamie says, "He don't fucking give up more than I do. Let him get it out of his system, then it's over."

There's another pause - Beard doesn't know what to say to that - before Roy asks, "What if he lost?"

"Lost...?" Jamie repeats.

"To you," Roy explains. "You're saying if he shows up your house and you're not there he'll just keep coming round, yeah? What if he shows up and you beat his arse into the fucking ground like he deserves. Would he still come back then?"

"Self-defense," Beard assures no one in particular.

But Jamie shakes his head again, this time quick and jerky. "I can't-" he says. He throws a nervous, furtive look at Ted.

"He can fucking be wrong sometimes, Jamie," Roy snaps - gently, for Roy - catching on quick.

Jamie doesn't answer, but Ted himself nods. He says, calm as a cucumber, "I can't agree with the rest, but that part sure is true."

"You can," Beard tells Jamie. Also gently - for Beard. Jamie's mouth twists miserably.

"Yeah," he finally agrees. "But I fucking won't, will I?"

"You only think that because you haven't yet," Beard insists.

"That actually ain't true," Ted points out, carefully cheerful. "I didn't see much else after," he shifts uncomfortably, a bit guilty, "but you put that man on his back in Wembley."

"...Are you encouraging this?" Jamie asks him, too confused to be aghast. Ted leans forward on his desk to regard Jamie with a serious, slightly self-deprecating smile.

"Well, it's like Roy said, I can be wrong sometimes," he says. "And these two fellas seem to think this is one of those times. Now, they both wouldn't be here if I didn't trust their judgement." He sits back then, softly tosses up his hands, smiles a little wider. "So I'll keep my wrong opinion to myself."

Jamie huffs a small, genuine but still slightly unsure laugh at that. He hesitates for a moment longer, but then he squares up his shoulders and lifts his chin and turns to Roy.

"No," he says. "No, he wouldn't come back if I did that."

[simmeons]

twelfth story for @badthingshappenbingo's bingo :)

characters; Leonard McCoy, James T Kirk, Spock, Montgomery Scott, Pavel Chekov, and random unnamed crew

words; 2,426

warnings; Scotty goes apeshit as per usual, getting mauled by an animal sorta it's. Scotty doing the mauling, descriptions of injuries, we talking about blood man, they use the word "hell", stalking/hunting (animal like sorta bc. bc Scotty is feral sea monster right guys yea)

prompt; Twisted Ankle

FYI; this is a mix of the mirror!scones AU/designs by @dilfoez and my personal sea monster!Scotty AU!! :) and going off The Animated Series, the fellas in TOS do in fact have a holodeck- they simply call it the rec room- so don't get confused :3

“Okay you two, I'm trusting you'll be able to do this together without having to use the damn thing.” Leonard McCoy handed Pavel Chekov a small remote- rectangular in shape, and gray in color. It had a few buttons, most of which weren't important.

The younger man gave a nod in understanding, a confident smile on his face. The chief of engineering wasn't too thrilled.

Montgomery Scott’s foot tapped impatiently as he stood waiting besides Chekov, his somewhat trimmed claws clanking against the metal flooring of the Sick Bay. “Do I seriously hafta wear this stupid thing?” He asked, gesturing to the collar wrapped tightly around his neck- a deep black that went against his colorful green scales.

“If you do the training like needed, then hopefully your friend here won't have to give you a shock.” The doctor replied, his tone flat and unimpressed. Normally he'd have the pleasure of controlling Scotty’s training programs, but the captain needed him for a stupid meeting, so Chekov volunteered. He'd much rather be laughing at Scotty failing to do trivial things, but he couldn't disobey the captain.

“Don't worry Mr Scott,” Chekov turned to look up at the taller and larger beast beside him. “This could be fun!”

The sea monster huffed, but he remained silent. He liked Chekov- the little lad was spunky and always ready to try and help, and honestly he was maybe a bit too pure for this job. He could be an ass when it was needed, but you could see the regret on his face later. His guilty conscience would be the reason he leaves Starfleet.

“Behave and we won't have problems.” McCoy summarized it for them, handing Chekov a little slate of data, a nice deep blue. “This is the program for today. Just go to the rec room, slip it in, and collect anything you see our friend demonstrating.”

“Easy enough!” The Russian said back, still optimistic. “Let's go Mr Scott, it's better to get it done and over with.” He added, hoping the good mood would potentially rub off on the engineer. It didn't however- he simply grumbled when Chekov turned on his heel and started walking the two of them down to the rec room.

With Chekov and Scotty leaving, McCoy grumbled as he gathered what he assumed would be needed for the meeting and he did his own departure, dragging his feet to the meeting room.

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

“I promise I won't shock you.” The younger man said to the engineer as they reached the rec room, the doors whooshing open as they stepped in. “I see no reason to! I know you don't want to do this, so I'm not going to make you even more upset.”

“That's something doctor McCoy will seemingly never understand.” The sea monster grumbled when the doors closed behind them, watching as Chekov went to a nearby panel and inserted the thick blue data chip into a slot.

The rec room changed from a bland, white and gray area turned into one that resembled a forest of sorts- the two of them in a clearing. Tall, verdant trees rose up around them, their leaves rustling gently in a simulated breeze. The ground beneath Scotty’s feet was soft, covered with a layer of green moss and fallen leaves. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows that danced across the forest floor.

Chekov glanced around, taking in the sights and sounds of the fabricated forest. “I think they’ve done a great job with these simulations,” He remarked, his tone filled with some awe. “It’s almost like being on Earth.”

“Aye.” Scotty replied shortly, not too keen on chatting right now. He was proud of the rec room as an engineer- taking some pride out of knowing he frequently had to repair it a few times or add some tweaks, but he knew better than going on a tangent. Get this damn thing over with first then you can go off about engineering.

Chekov wasn't too sure what the simulation wanted from Scotty, but he knew McCoy had programmed them to always get harder the next day, so he figured the engineer knew exactly what to do. He stood towards the panel as the sea monster took a few steps more into the clearing, his fin-like ears twitching occasionally- listening. For what, though?

The ensign jumped in his skin with surprise when he watched some creature leap from the trees, pouncing on the chief engineer. Scotty handled it well, as he immediately shoved the simulated beast off, its form dissipating when it fell to the floor. Was this what McCoy was training Scotty for? How to fight?

It was made even more clear when another one lunged at Scotty, who swiftly moved out of the way just to whirl around and force it to the ground with a pounce of his own. Chekov felt like he was watching some Kaiju movie in real time, but downsized a considerable amount. Despite that, he made sure to watch and mentally note anything that might be interesting for the doctor.

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

"Alright, let's get this started," Kirk began, looking at the PADD in front of him. "We’ve received some intel that suggests we might encounter hostile forces in the next sector. Starfleet Command wants us to be prepared for any scenario."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Captain, do we have any specifics on the nature of the threat?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's all very vague," The captain replied, his frustration evident. "But they're adamant that we proceed with caution. Don't want us to lose more people than necessary with these folk.”

"So, we're basically going in blind, again. What else is new?" The unenthusiastic doctor replied, his arms crossed.

Kirk shot McCoy a look, but there was a hint of an agreement in it. "It's not the first time, Bones. And probably not the last.”

"It would be logical to run additional tactical drills to ensure readiness. We should also increase security protocols, particularly in engineering and around key systems.” The Vulcan broke the human’s discussion with his strategic suggestion. The blonde looked at his first officer with a nod.

"Agreed. I want everyone on high alert. No surprises.”

Speaking of surprises- McCoy was momentarily distracted by his communicator going off. They were mostly used for away missions but it was best to keep them on at all times, but he was a bit frustrated to be called during a meeting of all things. Kirk and Spock’s attention was grabbed as well.

“You can answer it.” Kirk excused McCoy, knowing for a fact McCoy would ask for it.

The doctor hummed with acknowledgement as he flipped open his communicator, opening his mouth to speak but was immediately cut off.

“Doctor!” The usually chipper Chekov barked out through the handheld device. “Something's wrong with Scotty! He's acting like a wild animal!”

“What?” McCoy physically recoiled at the information, his brows knitting together. “What do you mean, Chekov? Did you try to-”

“Yes, yes! I tried everything! He was acting aggressive after your program and-” There was a pause, the man catching his breath. “I'm being chased in the rec room! Please, I need h-”

The man went quiet again, only the sound of his heavy breathing and the rustling of foliage around him coming through. Kirk and Spock made eye contact before the captain nodded, and the first officer was getting up and leaving the room.

“Chekov, are you okay?” Kirk leaned over closer to McCoy’s communicator, speaking into it.

“I think so. For now.” The ensign whispered, his accent thicker with the softer volume. “I seem to have lost him.”

“Bones.” The blonde spoke to McCoy, tone soft yet firm. “Get down there and control your experiment.”

Obeying the order McCoy sprang from his chair and bolted out of the room, leaving his communicator behind- he knew where Chekov was, and Kirk was better situated for helping someone through an emergency. A non medical one, at least.

Leaving the room, McCoy took a sharp left and bolted to turbolift, grabbing the small protruding handle from the wall (something Kirk had made several phallic jokes about) as he descended down the lift.

When the doors opened he heard a loud scream- and he immediately feared the worst. Running as fast as he could, pushing past people, the doctor ran down the hall until he got closer to the rec room. His feet stopped in their tracks when he arrived, heart dropping.

The rec room’s door was open, but the doctor was more focused on the sight of the sea monster hunched over a body, crimson blood flowing underneath it. It was obvious- it was Chekov, and God he wasn't going to make it. McCoy forced himself to immediately come to terms with it, even as he watched his body occasionally jerk, weak pleas falling from his lips.

McCoy was frozen with fear as he watched Scotty turn around, looking at the doctor. His remaining eye’s pupil was slit like a wild animal, unfocused and primal. His claws were stained with blood, and his mouth was as well- some of it dripping down his chin. Guilt settled in like a thick coat of smog, and he felt horrible. He shouldn't have trusted Chekov with this- but he thought it would've been more productive this way, considering Scotty was actually quite close to the ensign. They liked drinking and Scotty had in shorter terms- tried taking the man under his wing.

“Scotty,” McCoy tried his best to keep his voice calm, but it was a struggle. “Get away from him.”

The engineer wasn't swayed. He snarled, scales flaring up around his body as his body tensed up around his prey. Damn it all, the doctor just needed to get to Chekov, maybe he could try and save him.

“Come on, Scotty. Listen to me.” McCoy urged, his voice softer now, laced with desperation. Scotty didn't budge however, he just hunkered closer to the ground, looking like an animal ready to pounce.

The two of them held their position, so still a pen could be dropped and they'd hear it. Chekov kept struggling, his arms torn to hell by scratches and harsh bites but he was a fighter. His legs weakly tried to kick Scotty off, but the sea monster was too occupied with staring McCoy down.

A loud blaring alarm went off, red lights flashing around in the hallway as the Enterprise’s robotic voice warned the crew about a lock down. “Crew, please go to any room with a door and remain there until the lockdown is over. This is not a drill.”

Just as the Enterprise was about to repeat the order, Scotty lashed out, growling as his hands and feet scraped against the floor, claws clashing with metal. McCoy’s adrenaline was built up enough that when he saw the slightest movement he was ready- and he bolted.

He ran backwards, away from the crime scene, abandoning the poor ensign now that he had a raging sea monster on his tail. He needed to trap him somehow- get him isolated so he was away from Chekov so he could help him. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like Scotty was keen on slowing down now. McCoy could only run for so long before would get tired- so he needed to think fast.

Running through the layout of this floor, McCoy started to formulate a plan. Thankfully for him, running with claws was pretty hard against metal, so Scotty was significantly slower, but he was still quick due to his digitigrade legs that came with his new form.

After another few heavy breaths, McCoy had a plan.

On the next approaching turn there was a turbolift- if McCoy was lucky, Scotty could somehow slip into it. It was such a dumb idea, one that was likely to fail, but McCoy had nothing else.

His feet thudded against the floor as kept running to the turn before he forcibly slid against the floor like a baseball player, forcing his feet forward to try and throw Scotty off. Due to his age however, McCoy stumbled a lot more than what he'd like to admit, hurting his ankle in the process. He had no time to think when he was on the floor, rolling over onto his stomach and looking up as the sea monster came barreling closer to the turn, hitting it just as hard.

Having no purchase on the floor as his body couldn't stop the sideways force from the turn, Scotty's hands and feet slipped up as the large beast slammed into the turbolift like dead meat, the momentum from the turn being too much for him to handle against the slippery flooring.

The doctor scrambled up, watching as the turbolift doors hissed closed, encasing the raging sea monster- who was growling and snarling through the door, clawing at it as it hummed upward to the upper floor. McCoy could only hope everyone had gotten into a room fast enough, because then that means Scotty would be completely alone. He'd be easier to deal with.

His ankle hurt like crazy- no doubt twisted to all hell, but McCoy forced himself up. He groaned with pain, but pushed through it as he hobbled back to Chekov.